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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612160">play with fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/xenoglossia'>xenoglossia (oncharredwings)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Child Abuse, Crushes, Cunnilingus, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kavinsky/Skov, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Friendship, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Richard Campell Gansey III/Joseph Kavinsky, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Skov/Swan - Freeform, Slurs, Smut, Trans Kavinsky, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, idc if it's ooc lmfao, suicide ideation, this is so indulgent, trans skov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:48:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/xenoglossia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Joseph Kavinsky and Ronan Lynch used to be friends but a wedge drove between them named Richard Gansey. Ronan flew high while Kavinsky stayed i the shadows. When Adam Parrish moves to town, both Ronan and Kavinsky will have to confront each other and learn to co-exist all over again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't really written anything with fervor like this in a long time. Writing this for me :) Mind the tags, I always add them as I go</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You’re staring.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan yanks his eyes away immediately as soon as Gansey calls him out. “Was not,” he mutters, even as his gaze starts to track after the new kid anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam Parrish. Sandy hair, cornflower eyes, freckles splattered on tan skin, threadbare jeans, worn-out shoes, and a backpack that looks one book away from simply giving up. He walks with a slight slouch to his shoulders, as if the weight of the world weighs on him like Atlas, and his eyes have circles so deep and dark, Ronan wonders how he ever stays awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re staring </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Gansey says and Ronan flips him off. “Well, that’s not gentleman-like of you, now is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never claimed to be one, Dick,” Ronan replies and offers up a knife-sharp smile. “I’m skipping first. Skip with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gansey says immediately. “It’s senior year, Ronan, you need to focus on your studies-.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.” Ronan pushes off from the lockers, watching Parrish trudge to first period before he starts in the opposite direction. Gansey is yelling after him but he stuffs earbuds in his ears instead. Easy to ignore Gansey to the waves of techno. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the left stairwell’s staircase up to the third floor where the hallways are emptier. Not a lot of classrooms are used on the third floor anymore since the school ran out of funding to renovate them. The bathrooms are atrocious but they’re easy to escape to and Ronan eagerly lets himself into the girl’s room because their bathroom has better windows and a fucking couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” greets a voice reminiscent of a cat who ate the canary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan rolls his eyes and debates on turning up his music louder to ignore the boy lounging on the couch like he owns the place. Gold earring and gold necklace glittering on him like a king, Joseph Kavinsky sits sprawled out, a cigarette between his fingers like he’s holding court. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Kavinsky,” Ronan replies but his stomach is already forming knots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter, faggot, your boyfriend not stare back at you this morning?” Kavinsky replies, looking pleased like he said a funny joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan seethes. His jaw clenches and there’s a clear moment where he can picture wrapping his fingers around Kavinsky’s neck and </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeezing</span>
  </em>
  <span> until his head pops off like an unwanted zit. The image is enough to make him less angry and he turns around, flipping K off as he scratches the bridge of his nose. “You sure are obsessed with us gay guys,” he replies. “Must be one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it’s Kavinsky’s turn to snarl. “I’m not gay,” he growls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I hurt your feelings, Joey?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, Lynch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan laughs because Kavinsky is so easy to bait. “You know, you didn’t always used to be so fucking cagey, what happened to you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet answers him and Kavinsky just stares toward him, not that Ronan can see his eyes since the bastard is obsessed with wearing white sunglasses indoors. “Maybe if you hadn’t ditched me, you would know more about my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, here we go again,” Ronan mutters and sighs. Kavinsky always bitching about how they grew up and apart. He’d been friends with Kavinsky growing up but when Ronan met Gansey, things had changed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking ditched me for Dick,” Kavinsky snaps which is usually how they start this fight. “Left me high and dry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you act like I shoved you out into the cold and left you to starve or something. We grew apart, Kavinsky, that’s just how it is sometimes. Get over yourself. You quit being fun to be around and Gansey… Gansey helped me through a lot of shit, alright? I know you’re just fucking jealous of him but he helped me more than you ever did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t even give me a chance! I had to find out about your dad from the fucking news, I didn’t even hear it from </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kavinsky snarls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the good headspace to talk. Especially to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>owe</span>
  </em>
  <span> you shit.” Ronan grows tired of Kavinsky, starting to walk away. “Thanks for ruining my fuck off time, asshole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does he have that I don’t?” Kavinsky asks and Ronan pauses at the door. “What does </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick</span>
  </em>
  <span> do for you that I never did? I was loyal to you always.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan snorts and feels his skin prickle. He hates when Kavinsky talks about their old friendship like </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> did something so terrible. “God, listen to yourself,” he replies back. “You sound so fucking desperate, Kavinsky. Gansey is my best friend… Just- get over it, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer the question.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan growls and turns to face Kavinsky, wanting to shove his head into a goddamn toilet. “Well, for starters, he doesn’t fucking call me slurs. You ever think that’s part of the problem?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky glowers, fists clenching. “You know I didn’t do that shit when we were friends-.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sick, how about you adopt that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> and maybe I won’t shove your head into a wall.” Ronan flips Kavinsky off and leaves, already tired of his bullshit. He storms down the hall, punching the lockers on the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky’s question grinds his gears and he’s trying to remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> they stopped being friends. They’d been close throughout elementary school and even middle school which is when Gansey moved into town. Gansey had shone like a beacon and Ronan had never expected to end up his best friend. Except, they did become friends and Gansey told him how he was better than Kavinsky. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We matter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Middle school was when Kavinsky started to mess around with parties, drugs, and alcohol. He experimented and tried to make a name for himself - which he did but not in a good way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Ronan </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes</span>
  </em>
  <span> being bad and likes indulging the darker parts of his personality, he never wanted to become such a fuck up, he disappointed Gansey. So, he’d listen to Gansey and slowly detached himself from Kavinsky. If they weren’t friends anymore, he wouldn’t be equated with Kavinsky in Gansey’s worldview. By high school, Ronan ended up popular even if he still isn’t sure how he ended up in Gansey’s orbit, while Kavinsky stayed in the shadows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A string of guilt makes Ronan feel sick to his stomach. He’d never considered how much Gansey had influenced him away from K but considering Kavinsky’s track record, it’s probably a good thing. However, if Gansey had taken on both of them, maybe K wouldn’t just constantly be in trouble. Starting fights, losing said fights, being pulled over by the cops, being suspended, skipping class - okay, fair, Ronan skips class a lot too - and a myriad of other things Kavinsky finds himself in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Ronan should have tried harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should have reached out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forget where your class is, fag?” comes Kavinsky’s voice as he walks past him in the hall toward the stairwell. “Christ, you look like a fucking retarded robot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, never mind, Kavinsky is trash and Gansey is right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan follows K into the stairwell and grabs him by the back of his golden chain, yanking him back hard enough to make the other boy choke. He slams Kavinsky into the wall and punches him in the face, knocking his sunglasses off. Blood splatters the wall and the glasses clatter to the ground. Kavinsky’s right eye is already bruised and Ronan snorts. Of course, he’d already done something to piss someone off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t learn, do you? You Jersey Bulgarian mobster trash piece of shit,” Ronan growls. “You’re insufferable… This is why we’re not friends anymore. I should toss you down the stairs, maybe that’ll knock some sense into you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky laughs, teeth bloody, the noise sharp and jackal like in the hallway. “Go ahead, Lynch,” he growls. "Maybe I like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan snorts and shoves Kavinsky back into the concrete wall instead, hard enough to knock the air out of K’s lungs. “Who’s the fag now?” he retorts before turning to leave. He consciously lets his boot crunch over Kavinsky’s stupid sunglasses, breaking them with a satisfying snap. “See you on the streets, asshole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t wait for Kavinsky to respond, instead jogging down the stairs to hit the first floor and casually stride up to his locker. There’s still a bit of time left in first period and he isn’t about to go to class this late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Parrish is in his first-period class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan glares at the inside of his locker, basically empty with a few notebooks he likes to doodle in, and nothing else. He really needs to stop obsessing over the new kid but he grabs his notebook and storms to the classroom door. Mr. Grey stops speaking as he walks in and slings into his favorite seat at the back of the room. Right behind the new kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Lynch, do you have a late pass?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan shrugs in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Grey sighs but slowly continues the lesson and Ronan knows he’s going to hear about this later. However, all he does is stare at the back of Parrish’s head. There are freckles at the base of his neck and his sandy hair curls a bit in the back. Ronan’s stomach flops around like a fish out of water. No one should be this pretty, even from behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan reaches forward and gives Parrish’s chair a slight kick to grain his attention. “Pssst, new kid,” he whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Parrish ignores him but when Ronan nudges his seat again he begrudgingly turns to look at him. “What?” he hisses back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got a pencil I can borrow?” Ronan asks with a shit-eating grin. “Don’t have any.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s blue eyes roll a bit before he digs in his backpack and shoves a well-worn pencil onto Ronan’s desk. Then, he turns back around and resumes taking notes. Ronan’s eyes flicked to Adam’s hand, wrapped around the pencil, studying how his fingers connect to bony knuckles, and freckles dust the back of his hand. Ronan shudders, slowly picking up the pencil and almost bringing it to his mouth but he stops himself since it’s not his pencil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he brings the leather bracelets around his wrist up to bite while he doodles casually. He draws hooks, claws, and feathers swimming around in a black void. Eyeballs looking every which way, a tree, a raven’s beak, gnarled hands, and tentacles follow. When the bell finally releases them to the next period, Ronan offers Parrish his pencil back. “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parrish shakes his head. “Keep it, you need it more than I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The green light enables Ronan to stick the pencil behind his ear on his way to his next class. Latin class - something he easily aces and has no trouble doing, so his teacher doesn’t care if he doesn’t pay attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan enters the hallway and spots Kavinsky’s crew before he sees Kavinsky. Swan stands even taller than him and outweighs him by at least one hundred pounds while Skov looks like he has a Tik-Tok career being an e-boy. They stand with each other, Swan’s hand in Skov’s back pocket shamelessly. Proko is probably around here somewhere, trailing after Kavinsky like a lost puppy. Ronan tries to ignore them as he walks down the hallway but he can feel Swan’s eyes on him, mostly because he’s one of the only people who can almost look him eye to eye in the entire school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lynch,” Swan greets in a voice so deep it would make him feel something if he wasn’t so wrapped up in Parrish probably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Ronan replies, still walking until Swan steps into his path and he has to stop. Ronan sighs and rolls his eyes. “Hey, I’m trying to make it to class on time for the first time in forever, you mind getting out of my fucking way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skov comes up to Ronan then, standing shorter than them but not as short as Kavinsky, bright blue hair not in regulation for dress code, and a snapback resting backward on his head. His septum piercing is red, meaning the idiot probably did it himself and is not infected. Ronan’s a bit surprised he hasn’t been asked to change, considering his sweatshirt is cropped and showing off his midriff and his jeans slung low to show the top band of his Calvin Klein’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan would feel something for Skov too if he wasn’t so interested in someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You punch K?” Skov asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan glances around at the others in the hallway and finally spots Proko, Kavinsky’s newest dog, talking to Jiang but ignoring them. No Kavinsky. Christ, he can’t even escape this asshole when he’s just hanging in the hallway. Ronan rolls his eyes and holds up his still bloodied fist. “Whatcha think? He was asking for it, teach him to stay away from calling me a fag and we can talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skov snarls but he doesn’t bite which surprises Ronan. “Get out of here, Lynch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Been trying.” Ronan shoves around Swan’s shoulder and storms down the hallway, wishing he could strangle Kavinsky with his bare hands. Maybe Kavinsky’s hatred for gay people is finally rubbing his friends the wrong way, considering Kavinsky’s found himself in the midst of a gay friend group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ronan!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, now what? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan groans but doesn’t stop, making his pursuer chase him. The crowd practically parts as if Moses himself stepped into the hall so Ronan isn’t surprised to feel Gansey join him. People would do anything for Gansey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not hear me?” Gansey asks, pouting a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you, trying to get to class. I thought that’s what you wanted me to do,” Ronan replies as they approach their shared Latin class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, of course.” Gansey smiles and starts discussing some dead Welsh king he’s been on about since last summer so Ronan only half listens. “I think I found some new proof in the library,” he says once they reach the classroom at last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan is about to make a grunt of acknowledgment for Gansey to keep going when he notes who is sitting in the classroom. His heart stops in his chest and feels as if he’s going to need someone to restart his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parrish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy sits in the second row, three seats back, digging around in his threadbare backpack for something. Probably his Latin textbook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has Parrish always been in this class?” Ronan asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Gansey is already wheeling Ronan to his seat. “Oh, no, I think he picked it up instead of doing a second study hall a week ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A week ago and Ronan had somehow missed it. He slowly sinks into his seat, two seats behind Adam, in the third row. He can easily watch Adam from this spot; he can see part of his profile and how he leans extremely close to his notebook when he writes like he can’t see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gansey is still yammering on about dead Welsh kings and Welsh folklore while Ronan is just staring at Adam like a deer in headlights when Adam suddenly turns around. They make eye contact; horrible, painful, embarrassing eye contact for a brief moment, and then Ronan slouches in his seat and looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you talking about the Raven King?” Adam asks and then his face turns pink like he hadn’t expected himself to speak up but this is like music to Gansey’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know of him?” Gansey asks and then Gansey is moving his seat over so he can discuss this with Adam in detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan shudders and snatches the pencil Adam had given him from behind his ear to start doodling again. When the class finally starts, their teacher being late and apologizing, Gansey reluctantly returns paying attention to class as does Parrish. Ronan tries not to stare too much but his gaze is definitely focused on Adam’s way. His doodles become more plantlike before they start to turn familiar fingers. Digits he would recognize anywhere because they even follow him into his dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should really go to church. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Latin class is a breeze, even though his thoughts are as entangled as his doodles by the time they’re leaving. His next few classes are impossible to pay attention to so he doesn’t bother. More doodles for the collection today. Lunch finally arrives and Ronan walks into the large cafeteria, spotting Gansey easily because everyone wants to be around him and they have one of the better tables in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan approaches until he sees Parrish is sitting at their table as if he always belonged there. The sight makes Ronan feel like he’s having a heart attack and he turns on his heel to walk toward the bathroom instead. He bursts in through the door and sees a group of guys laughing while a toilet flushes. He rolls his eyes, going to wash his hands for something to do and focus on other than Parrish, Parrish, Parrish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind is going at one hundred miles per hour and he can’t slow down. He feels like he’s stuck in a trap and more than anything he just wants to be free. “Fuck,” he whispers. His gaze flicks up into the mirror, watching as the guys, Ronan recognizes most of them as Mountain View’s football team, are all starting to leave, cackling and laughing as if whatever they did was absolutely hilarious. It takes Ronan a moment to realize there’s someone in the stall, collecting themselves, their entire head wet from the swirly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan rolls his eyes and reaches over to dispense some paper towels to wipe his hands off before finally turning around to see who their victim was today. Probably some little nerd they get off on picking on but Ronan is surprised to see a bruised Kavinsky, leaning back against the stall where he sits, hair and face wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe he’s not too surprised. Picking on Kavinsky is practically an Olympic sport because while people love Kavinsky for his parties, they can’t stand him for the filth he spits out on the daily. Whatever transpired, Ronan is about ninety-five percent sure Kavinsky deserved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You learn a lesson yet?” Ronan asks, tossing the paper towels in the trash. “Or you still going to be a piece of shit? First, you get beaten up this morning, I give you a knuckle sandwich, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re being shoved into toilets by the football team? Christ, man, what is that a new record?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky slowly stands up, giving Ronan a dark look. “Not in the mood,” he replies as he goes to the row of sinks and looks at his face. His upper lip is split and bleeding and there’s blood on his white teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Ronan feels bad for Kavinsky. He tries to imagine Kavinsky as normally adjusted with friends who don’t just hang around him because he throws raucous parties but the image doesn’t compute. “What’d you do?” Ronan asks because he can’t help but find out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Kavinsky asks, his voice as tired as he looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To have them shove you in a toilet, man, what did you do?” Ronan asks again, figuring his first question had been obvious enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky doesn’t reply at first, just staring at himself like the image is going to change. Gansey calls Kavinsky </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfortunate</span>
  </em>
  <span> looking but Ronan has never found him unattractive. Quite the opposite; sure, he may tease Kavinsky and call him ugly because his personality definitely makes him ugly but his physical features are tragically pretty. The way his face is fine-boned and delicate, sharp, and pointed in places; dark eyes like coal, even though most people just call Kavinsky the devil. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He looks like he’s strung out constantly, how could you ever find him attractive? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gansey once asked him as if he can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>explain</span>
  </em>
  <span> his attraction to Kavinsky as easily as he can explain Latin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like being attracted to Kavinsky; honestly, he fuckings hates it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t do anything,” Kavinsky finally says while he grabs some paper towels to start cleaning off his face, being rougher than necessary. Ronan watches as he scrubs his face and tears at his already swollen lip which makes him flinch a little but K’s always been weird about pain. Maybe he likes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” Ronan ays immediately with a snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can believe me or not but I didn’t do shit,” Kavinsky snarls. “Ask them your fucking self if you don’t believe me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan rolls his eyes. “You gonna cry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lynch.” Kavinsky’s voice drops to a dangerous tone as he throws the paper towel away. The edge on his voice actually stops Ronan in his tracks and he’s taken aback. He watches Kavinsky grip the sink so tightly he can see his knuckles turn white and the tendons in his arm jump. “Fuck. Off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan recoils a little and wonders if he should hold out an olive branch but his brain screams at him not to because what would Gansey think? Would Gansey stop being his friend if he held out a truce flag for Kavinsky? Ronan lets the branch burn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything else, simply turns and walks out of the bathroom. The group of football players are all finding their seats now, some with trays in their hands, and Ronan decides to do exactly as Kavinsky suggested. He hates all of them but they all would love to be his friend simply because he’s best friends with Gansey. He can use that to his advantage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tad,” he calls, making Tad Carruthers turn to look at him, holding a piece of pizza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Lynch,” Tad says, clearly taken aback but quickly adjusting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saw you guys give Kavinsky a swirly, just wondering what the fuck he did now and if I should maybe shove him back in the toilets,” Ronan says casually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Tad laughs like Ronan’s told some amazing joke. Christ. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> he do, man? Always running his fucking mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Ronan nods, trailing off, looking back to see Kavinsky leaving the bathroom, Skov, and Swan flanking him like bodyguards. Ronan shifts away from Tad and goes to sit with Gansey and Adam. He sits down in a plastic chair and slings his boots up on the table in a way that shows he could care less about school property. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mind?” Adam asks, looking downright offended by him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan smirks but he puts his feet down simply because Adam looks disgusted. “Sorry, Parrish. You hanging with Gansey now? He rope you in with his dead king bullshit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not bullshit, Ronan,” Gansey says immediately. “Adam knows quite a bit, we’ve been quizzing each other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan sighs and rolls his eyes. God, if anyone needs their head shoved in a toilet, it’s Gansey. “Christ, you’re so embarrassing sometimes, Gans.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes trail away from Gansey and Parrish for once, simply following Skov, Swan, and Kavinsky over to his usual table in the back corner. Kavinsky’s pack of dogs, Skov, Swan, Jiang, and Prokopenko, all swarm the table like locusts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything about Joseph Kavinsky is despicable - at least if you ask Gansey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he swears, the way he’s constantly talking trash, his constant need for attention and validation. The way he picks fights and seems to fucking lose them constantly. Kavinsky has more drugs on him than a goddamn pharmacy though and Ronan supposes that’s one of his only saving graces at the school from keeping him from creeping into the complete social outcast territory. Plus, his legendary parties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the street racing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan shudders at the thought; Gansey would kill him if he knew how many times he’s raced Kavinsky in the dead of night. Truth is, Ronan loves smoking K’s ugly ass Mitsubishi and beating him at his own game; making K eat his dust is just a cherry on top of everything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight, they should race. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls out his phone to send Kavinsky a text. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>→ </span>
  <em>
    <span>race tonight?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes lift from his phone to watch Kavinsky pull out his phone, glance at the screen, and then start to type back immediately because Kavinsky has no shame in responding quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>← </span>
  <em>
    <span>see you on the streets</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan smirks and puts his phone away before Gansey asks about the way he’s grinning. He turns his gaze over to Parrish and Gansey, watching them talk, and noting how Gansey is pushing his tray over, letting Adam finish the rest. It’s an interesting site but maybe not so interesting; even a blind man could see Adam is poor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Parrish,” Ronan says, which makes Adam look over with wide eyes like he’s been caught doing something bad. “Want a ride after school?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam blinks a few times but then he slowly nods. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan smiles. “Cool. See you after eighth.” He stands up then, deciding he doesn’t want to sit still any longer. He’s tempted to walk up to K’s table but that might be stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt eats at him some more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan turns and goes to the vending machine to buy a bottle of Mount Dew. Kavinsky loves Mountain Dew. This is fucking stupid. Ronan walks over to K’s table in a rush, doesn’t make eye contact, and puts the Mount Dew bottle on the table as he walks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stupid fucking peace offering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll have to see what Kavinsky does with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan walks to the hallway, just waiting on his last few period classes. He has a study hall right now so that’ll be easy enough to skip. He’s standing in front of his locker when he feels someone joining him. He glances over, hoping it’s Adam and assuming it’s Gansey but it’s neither of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kavinsky,” he greets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky drinks his Mountain Dew for a moment before looking over at him. “You punch me this morning and then you buy me a fucking soda? Mixed signals much?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserved to be punched,” Ronan replies, still staring into his locker depths. “You didn’t deserve to have your head put in a toilet. Surprised your friends didn’t go after them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky snorts. “Swan is big but he’s only one guy,” he replies. “It’s whatever man, I’m used to it. You want to skip class together? I’ve got weed in my car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of smoking out with K and being faded for his last two classes but Gansey would be furious if he came to class after smoking. Plus, he has to take Parrish home and he knows the shit Kavinsky keeps is strong. Not to mention, if he was seen just hanging out in Kavinsky’s car, people would talk. He doesn’t really care about what they say but he does care if Gansey finds out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Ronan replies. “Thanks for the offer though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky pouts a little. “You broke my sunglasses, least you can do is hang out with me when you skip study hall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan raises an eyebrow. “You stalk my schedule, weirdo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you just skip this period every day so I figure it’s not a real class,” Kavinsky replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hanging out with you,” Ronan replies, slamming his locker when the bell rings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know why, man, you don’t need to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I bought you a soda, I didn’t give you a BFF bracelet, Jesus Christ.” He knows he’s being an ass but he can’t help it; muscle memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, fag,” Kavinsky snarls but Ronan feels the words grate under his skin. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> when Kavinsky calls him a fag, considering he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rather be a faggot than a crackhead,” Ronan shoots back before he walks away. He doesn’t know what possesses him to go outside and to the parking lot but he walks out to his car, sitting on the hood and wishing he smoked cigarettes. He needs something to do but the only thing he has are his bracelets. He raises his wrist up to chew them, his gaze flicking over the parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see one car rocking a little too much and he’s not surprised to see it’s Swan’s Golf. He snorts, rolling his eyes a little, wishing he had someone to take out to his car during class for a nice time but he’s been single for a while. Not parked too far from the Gold is Kavinsky’s white Mitsubishi; the sight of it just sitting in the parking lot is almost alien. In the dark streets, the Mitsubishi is a legend, a white, mean ghost with a black, smirking grill. But in the parking lot, the car looks less intimidating and less cruel - just a fucking rich boy car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kavinsky loves that damn car and Ronan can still remember how he’d managed to finally spring it free from the impound lot a few weeks ago. The rumor spread around was that the cops were going to make him watch them crush it if he was caught on the street again. The next rumor was supposedly Kavinsky laughing in their faces and promising he wouldn’t be caught again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far, it’s been true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last he checked, Kavinsky had a police scanner installed to keep up to date when he’s out doing illegal activities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ronan looks at Kavinsky’s pristine white car underneath the September blue sky and feels an urge so powerful overtake him he has to take a deep breath to steady himself. In his car is a sharpie he keeps to chew on and play with when he’s bored. Sliding off of the hood of the BMW, Ronan lets himself in the car, grabs the sharpie, and walks across the parking lot. There’s a tall pickup truck between the shaking Gold and Kavinsky’s car so there’s plenty of privacy. Glancing once over his shoulder, Ronan leans down and starts to write on the hood of Kavinsky’s car with the black sharpie. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>C R A C K H E A D</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He writes the word in bold letters across the hood of the car as fast as he can so he’s not caught. After, he shoves the sharpie away and walks back toward the school a dark smirk on his lips. Maybe Kavinsky will finally learn a goddamn lesson. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter contains sexual abuse, proceed with caution</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After Ronan declines hanging out, Kavinsky goes to the bathroom to smoke a cigarette and then he loiters in the halls, bullying a freshman into giving him a bag of gummy candy, seething as he remembers how Ronan called him a crackhead. Normally, shit rolls off of his back but there’s something about that particular insult. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother is a crackhead, constantly high off of cocaine to the point she neglects him and lies passed out in the bathroom of their mansion. His father provides the drugs for her as if it’s completely normal. He’d been addicted to cocaine for a while, too, but last summer he’d disappeared for a few weeks to go to rehab. Mostly because Skov talked him into it; </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to fucking kill yourself, Joey, you need to stop. Prove your dad wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, rehab it had been and he’d luckily detoxed and struggled to kick the habit. He could easily pick it up again but anytime he feels the deep urge, Skov will pick up the phone and distract him. Now Lynch is out here calling him a fucking crackhead when the bastard doesn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> him anymore. Fine, maybe he shouldn’t call Lynch a fag but Ronan is a fucking hypocrite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When school finally ends, Kavinsky eagerly walks out to the front where he sees Skov, Swan, Proko, and Jiang are all hanging around his car, staring at it like it’s grown a head. He rolls his eyes, crossing the parking lot. “The fuck are you idiots doing?” he calls but as he approaches, Skov turns around and walks up to him, stopping him before he can see. “What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some asshole vandalized your car,” Skov says, looking like he’s about to have a stroke. “Probably fucking Lynch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky frowns, stepping around Skov to approach. He pushes around Proko and Swan steps aside so he can see the damage. The black letters written onto the white paint of his car makes his stomach curdle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>C R A C K  H E A D</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck,” he growls, turning around to see Lynch escorting trailer park boy to his BMW. Rage fuels him and he crosses the parking lot, ready to fight Ronan right here and now. “Lynch!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan stops, looking over at him and putting his body between Adam and him as if he’s after Parrish instead. “The fuck do you want?” Ronan demands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fucking ruined my car, asshole!” Kavinsky shouts. “The fuck is your problem?!” He doesn’t want to admit how the words hurt or how it hurts more knowing it had to have been Ronan because no one else would be so bold. Ronan is practically untouchable with his older brother and Gansey always there to swoop in and save him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pause and then Ronan shrugs. “You got proof?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who else?” Kavinsky snarls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan laughs. “Dude, you pick fights with everyone, you bully people, you call people fags… Take </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> pick, Kavinsky. People hate you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky seethes, hands clenching and unclenching. His father will never agree to give him money to have the car fixed so now he has to drive around with this fucking mar on the hood because Lynch is an asshole. He wants to fight, to throw Ronan to the ground, and beat his face in but Ronan is bigger than him and while he contains more audacity, Kavinsky knows Ronan can box. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no winning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially when Ronan is right - people do hate him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People had stopped to stare and Kavinsky glares at them, too. He turns and walks away, knowing he can go home and smoke out. Of course, now he has to drive the streets with a fucked up car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“K…” Skov says as soon as he comes back and there is genuine concern in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he snaps, not wanting to show how upset he is to his friends. He slams into his car, hiding behind black tinted windows. Once he’s inside the car, he leans back against the seat for a moment, fighting tears burning behind his eyelids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The parking lot empties around him and some people honk at his car as they drive past but Kavinsky just glares at them, locking and unlocking his doors. Sometimes, all he wants to do is let loose and just go absolutely apeshit but instead, he turns the Mitsubishi on and slams his music all the way up. The sound system makes his car vibrate and shake but the trap music wraps around him like a love letter; allows violence to pour through and out of him like a much-needed siphon. He squeals out of the parking lot, blowing past other cars in line and using the wrong lane to turn onto the road, hitting the gas to take off as fast as the Mitsu will go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The streets fly by and he knows he’s pushing it considering the speed limit is absolutely only twenty-five through here but he doesn’t care. He drives fast until he comes to his own affluent neighborhood where he slows down because he doesn’t want to go home. He should have gone to Skov’s house but he’s sure Skov and Swan are going to fuck after school. He drives past his own house a few times before finally pulling into the driveway, keeping the nose of his car away from the road’s view. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father is home, a black Escalade sitting in the double-wide driveaway evidence of his presence. Kavinsky debates speaking to his father about giving him money to fix his car but he doubts his father will agree. He’ll just blame him for the error and probably give him a few new bruises as a reminder to not ask him something so foolish again. Regardless, Kavinsky comes into the house’s foyer and looks around, wishing his sunglasses weren’t busted and broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels naked without them, completely exposed to the elements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yosef,” comes a cold voice from his father’s office just off of the foyer and front hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders but he approaches knowing if he ignores his father it will only be worse. He comes to stand in the doorway, trying to hold himself tall and steady. Kosta Kavinsky sits at his desk, long dark hair around his face, a sharp beard on his jaw closely and neatly trimmed. Black eyes are full of ire when they meet Kavinsky’s across the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father,” he greets quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father only speaks Bulgarian in the house so Kavinsky makes a mental note to switch back as his father starts speaking. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did you go to school?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, Sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he replies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father hums. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did you learn something</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky takes a deep breath through his nose. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not really</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta snorts and steeples his fingers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you have homework</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good. It is good for a young man to have responsibilities, considering you constantly shirk yours. I do not want to deal with the police anymore for you. Do you understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good. You are dismissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lecture is short and Kavinsky wonders if his father is in a good mood. Maybe he should ask since he seems amiable. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Father</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta pauses as he was about to pick up a pen. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yosef</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s now or never. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Some kids messed with my car, ruined the paint. I was wondering if it could be fixed</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta’s calm demeanor seems to vanish and a frown pulls his features together in anger. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your car is ruined</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir. It needs a paint job… I was hoping it could be fixed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta slowly stands. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Show me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a glimmer of hope in Kavinsky as he takes his father out to the driveway to show him the damage. Kosta circles the car, studying the hood where the insult sits in bold letters before he strokes his chin as if in consideration. Kavinsky tries not to hold onto any hope his father will give in but he can’t help but feel a glimmer of a possibility. Maybe his father’s pride will win out and his car will be sent away for a paint job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your classmates did this to your car, Yosef</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky nods. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta looks displeased. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I will have it fixed for you Yosef… You will owe me a favor, of course.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky pauses and feels the glimmer of excitement filling him die. A favor. He doesn’t have to think too hard about what kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>favor</span>
  </em>
  <span> his father will want from him but he has no choice. It’s either do something he hates or drive around with an embarrassing addition to his car. He nods, deciding to go the thankful route. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir. Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I will call a man who will take your car to have it fixed. For now, you will have to call your friends to get to school</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He’s sure Skov will take him to school and bring him home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta hums and turns to go inside. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight, Yosef.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight, I will collect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders. He was already not going to show up to racing Ronan tonight anyway, not after the bastard ruined his car but now he can’t go anywhere anyway. He wonders if he can talk his father into doing the favor now. Then he can just go to bed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I have homework…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kosta’s hand comes around and hits him so hard he feels his world spin as he crashes to the concrete of the driveway. Blood splatters the ground as his already swollen lip opens more. Blood pours down and into his mouth as he blinks a few times, ears ringing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get inside, boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kosta snarls. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll collect now since you’re being such a little shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders and slowly pulls himself to his feet, going inside without a complaint. The more he complains, the worse things will be. Kosta follows him, quick on his heels, and his father’s icy hand goes to the back of his neck, guiding him to his office where he’s bent over the mahogny desk. His mind slides away when his pants are pulled down, followed by his underwear. He tries not to focus on the sound of zipper teeth and the way his father grunts when he’s inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It burns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks about the street and the wind in his hair when he drives fast. He thinks of neon lights and his friends blowing smoke into his mouth. He thinks of the time Skov kissed him and how it felt like speeding. The way his flesh felt as if it were alight with flames and how Skov had blushed and then laughed so hard he’d almost pissed himself. He thinks of trap music blasting through speakers and his body floating away, too faded to care. He thinks of everything but right now and the pain he’s experiencing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignores the way his father’s belt buckle jingles and how the desk presses awkwardly into his pelvis. He ignores how after, his father throws him out of his office, still exposed, and how everything leaks out as he goes upstairs. One moment he’s walking up the stairs, the next he’s naked and on his bed, body tingling from a scorching shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t have been sitting here long because he’s still wet from the shower water. He finds his phone, sitting on his bed, checking for texts. The group chat has been going off but Kavinsky opens up Skov’s private messages with him to text. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>→ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad’s going to fix my car. Can’t race tonight. Need you to pick me up tomorrow</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>← </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick ok… what was the catch? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky snorts and he slowly lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He remembers the first time he told someone about the abuse he suffers at home. They hadn’t believed him so after, he’d held the secrets close to his chest. No one ever questions the bruises he comes to school decorating his body like badges because he’s a bad apple; no one gives a fuck about what he goes through at home and no one has ever asked about his home life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No teacher in a feel-good teen movie has stopped him in the hall and asked if he’s alright. No one’s sponsored him or made sure he eats enough or has love and care. No adult has ever been concerned about him; he’s a fuck up and teachers gave up on him years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s never even told his friends the truth because he doesn’t know if they’d care. Do his friends care about him? Does anyone care about him? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ just chores stuff lol </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an easy lie; it’s easier than the truth. Everything is easier than the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← boo lol but sure i can pick you up</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>← god, lynch is such a fucking asshole</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>← want swan to punch him tomorrow? He’s asking</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky snorts and part of him wants to agree but in truth, he can’t prove it was Ronan who did it because Ronan is right. Pretty much the entire school hates him and it hadn’t been a secret he’d been addicted to cocaine for a while. He’d never exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>hid</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fact from anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ no</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>←</span>
  <em>
    <span> what?? Why not?? Dude??</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ it’s fine idc</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dealing with his father tonight, he could care less about Lynch. He rolls over onto his side and curls up, his body still hurting from earlier now that he’s no longer drifting away in dissociation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>← </span>
  <em>
    <span>what’s wrong? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question leaves him feeling raw and Kavinsky feels tears start to stream down his face. He doesn’t usually cry but after tonight he’s feeling like an exposed nerve ending. He wants to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he’s too tired to bother. More than anything, he hates being alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ just hate being alone lol you know me :p</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← want me to come pick you up? You can stay over at my place</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he’d love that but he’s not sure his father would let him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>→ </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me ask </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← lol ok</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky swallows a lump in his throat and slowly sits up, body stiff and sore. He pulls on underwear, joggers, and a t-shirt, followed by an oversized hoodie, wanting to feel completely covered. There is an old pair of sunglasses sitting in his closet which he puts on his face before going downstairs. His father’s office is empty but he can hear the man in the kitchen, talking to someone - probably his mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky slowly comes into the kitchen, finding his father on the phone while he leans against the island counter. It’s odd to see his father anywhere outside of his office or his bedroom but he stands still and quiet, waiting his turn. After a few minutes, his father ends the call and looks at him expectantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to go to Skov’s with your permission, Sir.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, his father doesn’t care what he does as long as he doesn’t embarrass him but since he’d already stepped out of line, he wants to make sure he doesn’t do it again tonight. His father luckily waves his hand, the only permission he’s going to receive, and Kavinsky doesn’t ask twice, he just flees the kitchen and pulls on sneakers before calling Skov on the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo, yo, yo,” Skov greets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pick me up,” he replies before hanging up and going to sit on the hood of his own car, smoking a cigarette out of view of the house’s windows and the front door. He won’t have to wait long he hopes; the night air is colder than he expects and his cigarette burns down to the butt with him zoning in and out before Skov finally arrives. He honks lightly and Kavinsky eagerly flees his car to join Skov in the front seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Skov greets. “Shit, your face!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he lies, knowing he probably looks like shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck happened?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky lets his head fall back, eyes shutting as emotions threaten to overwhelm the carefully placed dam he has around his heart. If he tells Skov, he’s not sure what will change about their relationship but he can already foresee how it will make him look weak. He’s not the guy who constantly gets into fights for fun, he’s the stupid abused kid being beaten by his father constantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“K?” Skov prompts again. “Talk to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky laughs bitterly. “That what we do now? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Talk</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re friends.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we?” he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Skov says firmly. “Look, I know you think people only hang around you because of drugs and parties but that’s not why I hang around you. I’m your friend, man if you need to talk…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky takes a deep breath and then he feels emotions bubble up so disgustingly he feels sick to his stomach. “Fuck,” he growls. “Pull over.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov frowns but he pulls over on the side of the road and Kavinsky stumbles out of the car to dry heave. “K!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remains bent over, coughing and dry heaving for at least a minute while Skov comes around to rub his back. Once the feeling of nausea passes, he slowly straightens up, running a hand back through his dark hair. “It’s my dad,” he spits. “He did this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Skov asks in disbelief. “What the fuck?! How long has been doing this shit to you? Is he… You said you were fighting kids!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I lied,” he snarls. “Most of the time, at least.” He leans back against Skov’s car, letting the cool air ease away his nausea. He can’t look at Skov, eye contact is too hard, but he stares at the Virginian woods, listening to the night creatures sing in the quiet air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Skov gasps. “The fuck- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Shit- Dude, you need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just did,” Kavinsky snarls, looking over at him, eyes ice cold. “People don’t fucking care, man. Look at me! When has anyone ever gave a shit about what happens to me? I could show up to school tomorrow with a Glock and blow my brains out and no one would bat an eye- actually, no, they’d cheer first and then go on about their fucking days.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov’s face darkens at Kavinsky’s words. “K, that’s fucked up,” he mutters. “You should tell an adult-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he snaps. “And don’t you fucking do it either, got it? Swear you won’t tell anyone, I swear to God-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t… I just think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> should. Tell someone who can help!” Skov looks over then like he’s a fragile, broken thing and Kavinsky feels every fear he ever had click into place. Now, Skov is going to look at him like he’s breakable. Exactly what he didn’t want to happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shakes his head. “Like I said, people don’t care about me, man. Just forget it. I’m fine.” He pushes Skov back toward the driver’s side and throws himself back into the car, slamming the door. He needs to clear his head. “I’d kill for a line right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Skov says firmly. “We all gave up that shit for you, man. We can smoke out when we get back to my house. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky nods. “Swan over?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s waiting for us to get back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell him to order a pizza. I’m starving.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> faded,” Skov giggles in his face as if he isn’t too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky snorts and studies the glow in the dark stars and moons on Skov’s bedroom ceiling. Swan left some time ago and they’ve been lying in bed cuddling together. He has no idea what time it is and he doesn’t really care, just having a good time while they touch and press together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov rolls over onto him and Kavinsky is taken aback when Skov kisses him. For a moment, there is a gut reaction to shove Skov away, snap at him for being gay but then his body does the opposite. He cups Skov’s face in his hands and kisses him back instead, enjoying the taste and feel of Skov’s lips on his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Swan,” he whispers as if that’s a deterrent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov giggles. “He doesn’t care,” he replies. “We’re pretty open. I wanna eat you out so bad, Joey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is one secret he carries closer than the fact that he’s abused by his father but Skov has known for a few years now. Mostly because Skov’s known him the longest after Ronan. He shudders at the idea of Skov between his thighs, unsure what it would feel like or if he’d even enjoy it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please?” Skov whispers against his ear. “Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel so good, Joey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s never let anyone else touch him and he’s never had a chance to really explore himself. Everything sexual he’s had happen have been non-consensual but he can’t tell Skov that or it’ll kill the mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never really…” he decides to say since he’s never done anything willing with anyone before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov sits up a bit. “That’s okay,” he says softly. “You won’t have to do anything, I’ll do all the work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders, already feeling heat building in his groin just at the thought of Skov burying his face between his thighs. “Okay,” he finally whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov grins and then he’s shifting to start to kiss him. They kiss sloppily a few times as Skov drags his lips and teeth and tongue down his jaw, neck, and to his clavicle before skilled hands push his shirt up. Kavinsky shudders when Skov pushes his shirt up under his chin and then Skov’s tongue is on his nipples, licking and sucking his chest greedily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got great tits, K,” Skov whispers, biting the undersides softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky blushes. “Shut up,” he mutters, covering his face then as he burns with shame. He’s thankfully always been a part of having a small chest, even when puberty smacked him in the face, instead of going straight to his hips and ass. Regardless, his face burns with shame anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like, okay?” Skov asks, kissing down his stomach and to the aforementioned hips. Skov pulls at his joggers and exposes the swell of his hip, sucking on the flesh there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky moans, heat flooding so quickly he’s embarrassed. “Shit,” he whimpers. He rolls his hips and Skov is quick to pull off his sweats, kissing his thighs and kissing along his underwear like a hungry animal. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ever come, Joey?” Skov asks, running the flat of his tongue over the crotch of Kavinsky’s underwear. “You ever just gotten off by yourself?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders, trying not to snap his legs shut in shame. “No,” he admits shyly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never? Oh, baby, you’re gonna have your mind blown.” Skov sits up so he can pull Kavinsky’s underwear off, leaving him basically naked, rubbing his palm over K’s cunt lightly. “Shit, your pussy’s cute.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky moans, covering his face again when Skov exposes him. He feels ugly and unclean, even though he showered before coming here. He’s never shaved, even if he’s seen in porn how everyone wears their damn vaginas bald; he’s only let it grow wildly. Hopefully, Skov doesn’t mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov is back between his legs, lightly blowing on his cunt with a hot puff of air before he slides his tongue over Kavinsky’s folds. Kavinsky jumps, unsure about the feeling at first; it’s not a sensation he’s ever felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax,” Skov whispers. “Just shut your eyes and relax, K.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky nods, trying to relax and calm his anxious heart from galloping out of his chest. He closes his eyes and focuses on the good sensation. Skov’s tongue is wet and hot, his tongue ring catching on folds a few times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Skov finds his clit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky’s eyes widen when Skov licks him there over and over, sucking and teasing the bud with his teeth. A moan escapes him, followed by another and another until all he is a whining mess. His fingers wind in Skov’s blue hair and he pulls it, holding him there, moaning wildly, orgasm building strong and fast. The heat in his gut spreads and his pussy throbs with a need for release. When Skov adds fingers inside of him, adding one, then two, as he’s loosened up, he can only moan and beg. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has no idea what he’s begging for but his heart is now trying to escape his chest entirely. “Fuck!” Kavinsky cries out, grinding on Skov’s face for more friction. “God, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov groans in response, eating him out like it’s his job. Kavinsky feels himself tiptoe to the edge and when Skov adds a third finger, fingering harder, tongue tracing patterns on his clit, he’s catapulting over the edge. He slams a hand over his mouth when he cries out and comes, legs and body jerking desperately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmmn</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Skov moans as he sits up, face wet and grinning like a madman. “Fuck, you taste good, Joey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky looks up at him, knowing he probably looks completely fucked out just from oral. “Fucking Christ,” he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give you a few minutes and I’ll make you come again.” Skov smiles, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s what’s nice about us trans-men, we can usually come over and over, unlike cis men.” Skov winks, leaning over to dig around in his drawer, pulling out a vibrator. “This thing will be your best friend. It’s a g spot stimulator. I gotta get towels, we’re about to become a fucking slip and slide in here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky blushes but he watches Skov walk out, shutting the door. He takes a moment to relax again, taking a few deep breaths. His father would kill him if he knew he was fooling around with a boy. He can never admit to being gay at school but in Skov’s bedroom… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plus, he’s high as fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Skov returns, he’s carrying a few towels, which he places on the bed, helping Kavinsky lift his hips so he can sit on some, too. He blushes, unsure what this means but Skov is sucking on the toy and placing it inside him. Kavinsky gasps because it seems so sudden but when the toy is turned on, all thoughts leave his mind completely. Skov rocks the toy into him, turned on low, and his orgasm builds ridiculously fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so wet, Joey,” Skov pants, looking just as horny as he feels. “Bet you’ll jizz.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky pants and moans, touching his chest, pinching his nipples while the toy works him closer and closer. When he comes again, he’s suddenly glad there’s a towel under his ass. “Shit!” he gasps, watching the wet mess squirt all over the towel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov’s grin is a mile wide. “That’s it, Joey, bet it feels so good. Huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky whines in response, pushing Skov’s hand away when he’s had enough. “St-stop-fuck- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov pulls the toy out and turns it off. “Mmmmn, how was that, baby?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shudders, unsure of how they came to this conclusion for the evening. How had they gone from smoking out to having sex? He has no idea but he’s extremely confused and feeling a little nauseous now. “Felt good,” he admits, staring up at the ceiling before covering his eyes. “But I don’t know how we fucking got to this point. I don’t remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov snorts.”It was the edibles, man,” Skov replies. “Look, K, we can stop, I don’t want to push you. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Did we make out earlier or something?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov lies down beside him, out of the wet spot, nodding. “We kissed a few times. You came onto me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” he mumbles, suddenly exhausted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t say anything about it, man, I know you’re buried in the closet.” Skov trails his fingers over Kavinsky’s bare hip. “But you ever wanna fuck again, I won’t say no. I’d scissor you until you fucking cried if you let me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky blushes and covers his face again, trying to remain steady. “Can’t believe I turn into a fucking gay mess when I’m high.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov laughs. “Nah, it’s okay. I think you were just upset about earlier and wanted some comfort. It happens, man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Swan see?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, he bounced before we made out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky nods, feeling a bit better. He looks over at Skov, looking him over, admiring his pretty face and hazy eyes. “You want me to do you now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov grins wide. “Seriously?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems polite.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, yeah,” Skov says. “Finger me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky rolls over so he can slide his hand down inside of Skov’s Calvin Klein’s, rubbing over his cunt with curious fingers. Skov isn’t bare either but there’s only a light bush, his labia is bare. “You’ll have to guide me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rub my clit, man,” Skov says, trailing into a soft moan when Kavinsky follows directions. “God, yeah, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky bites his lip, rubbing Skov in slow circles, feeling heat build between his thighs again, too. Skov moans and rocks his hips, pussy soon wet from the work Kavinsky puts in. He clumsily puts one finger and then two inside, fingering him in earnest. Skov lifts his hips here and there, telling him to go faster or slower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He works Skov up, making him pant and moans until he feels his pussy clench around his fingers. Skov moans loudly when he comes, his entire body shuddering. Kavinsky pulls his fingers out when Skov finishes, looking at how wet they are with a deep flush building in his cheeks. He’s only wetter when Skov pops his fingers into his mouth to suck his own taste off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Kavinsky whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Not the worst I’ve had,” he tells him. “You just need practice… Practice on yourself more and you’ll be excellent at getting boys off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s gay, gay, gay. He likes getting boys off. Kavinsky nods, lying back down again, just staring at the ceiling, letting his mind float away all over again. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Lynch is at his locker when Kavisky shows up with Skov the next day. He shoots daggers at the back of the bastard’s head but goes to Skov’s locker instead of starting a confrontation. Swan is waiting for them and Skov eagerly drags him down for a sloppy kiss. Kavinsky sneers but doesn’t say anything. Not like he has room to talk anyway, considering what he’d done last night. His gaze travels to Lynch again, leaning back against the locker next to Skov’s, and chewing absentmindedly on the sleeve of his hoodie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn, wish I could have seen that shit,” he hears Swan say, and panic makes him jerk back into paying attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seen what?” Kavinsky demands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seen us get ridiculously stoned,” Skov replies and shoots Kavinsky a look that makes him feel guilty for being concerned. “We had a good time last night after you left.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swan pouts. “You saying I’m not fun?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re plenty fun,” Skov smirks and Kavinsky is surprised when Skov reaches down to grab Swan’s dick through his jeans. “Wanna skip first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve all seen a lot of each other when partying and taking care of themselves after but Kavisky’s always wanted to see Swan’s dick. From the way Skov talks, he’s ridiculously huge, and his mind trails back to how Skov called them </span>
  <em>
    <span>open</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” Swan mutters, kissing Skov’s neck and nibbling his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky forces his gaze over to Lynch and wishes he could talk him into skipping first with him but it’s a pipe dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to come with us, Joey?” Skov asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question drags him away from Lynch and over to Skov and Swan again. There’s a smirk on Skov’s face, as if he knew what Kavinsky had been thinking just seconds ago. He blushes and debates on telling them to fuck off but he nods. He fucking nods. Fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go.” Skov takes Swan’s hand and they walk away, heading across the campus to the school pool. There’s a viewing room on the second floor and Swan’s had copies of the keys since last year. They’ve snuck away more than once to smoke out in the viewing area because no one is ever up there. Swan lets them in and Skov throws his backpack off and before Kavinsky can guess what they’re going to do up here, Skov’s jeans are being kicked off and he’s sitting up on some stacked workout mats. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swan walks over and captures his mouth, standing between his spread legs. Kavinsky blushes and walks over toward the windows to look down at the pool Surprisingly, it’s not empty and his eyes follow a figure as they do laps. For a moment, he’s not sure who could be doing fucking laps this early but he watches as a well-muscled boy climbs out of the water, removing goggles and the swim cap on his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick fucking Gansey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky sneers and pulls away, even if his mind immediately dives into the gutter as he pictures Gansey on top of him. It’s a brief flash but it’s enough to make him fucking horny; the sounds Skov makes is not helping his mood and he glares. “The fuck you guys bring me with you for?” he demands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swan looks back over his shoulder and smiles, white flashing brightly on his handsome face. Skov peers around Swan’s shoulder and holds out his hand, gesturing for Kavisky to walk over. He doesn’t, remaining where he’s standing a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest as a way to protect himself from the situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, Joey, join us. He’ll wear a condom,” Skov says, pouting. “Let’s get you laid.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Kavinsky demands. “I’m not-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gay?” Swan asks as he laughs. “K, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky glares at them; fine, maybe they know he’s gay but he doesn’t like feeling forced into doing something he isn’t sure he wants to do. “I never said I wanted to have sex with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We won’t force you,” Skov says quickly. “Just an offer. Figure you might like to get your rocks off this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes. Maybe Swan knows about Skov because Skov isn’t quiet about being trans, but he is, and he isn’t ready to just announce to the world what he has between his legs. Maybe Swan already knows because Skov told him or maybe Swan knows because he’s not as stealthy as he thought. His mind travels back to Dick downstairs and hates how he blushes at the idea of letting the bastard rail him from behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hate fucking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey would never admit to having sex with him, he’d probably rather die. He turns his back to Swan and pulls out his phone. He has Gansey’s number, mostly because he stole it out of Ronan’s phone once. He’s sent a few messages to Gansey before but normally they go unanswered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ nice form dick </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not long before he receives a reply while he still debates on letting Swan fuck him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← Joseph</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>← Where are you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ Just enjoying the view</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps closer to see if Gansey is still down there and he is, still in his tiny speedo, a towel around his shoulders now, phone in hand, as he looks around in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← I would appreciate it if you would stop bothering me Joseph </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ So formal daddy </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>→ You suck Lynch off with that mouth? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← I have no interest in ‘sucking off’ anyone</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>→ lol please we both know you like to suck his 🍆</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>← Good bye Joseph </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky laughs and turns back to see Skov and Swan making out again and his eyes drop down to see Swan’s jeans down around his ankles, and boxers around his thighs. Skov is moaning and there’s definitely an undeniable sound of him being fucked. His pussy practically lights on fire while watching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swan’s ass is tight and fit and from the angle, Kavinsky has to the show, his cock is huge. Skov moans desperately, his pussy sopping wet from being fucked. Kavinsky stands and watches Swan’s cock go in and out of pink pussy without being able to look away. His cheeks flush red hot and when Swan lets out a long groan and slams Skov deeply, he watches as he empties his load right into Skov’s cunt. When Swan pulls his dick out, Skov’s pussy </span>
  <em>
    <span>gapes</span>
  </em>
  <span> and is full of white cum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky tries to look away but he can’t too captivated by what he’s seeing. Skov looks undeniably fucked out and Swan’s dick is twitching, still half hard. Dark skin is flushed and covered in white fluids. Kavinsky’s pussy throbs, pounding with his heavy heartbeat and all of the heat in his cheeks travel down, down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>down</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov smiles at him, looking drugged. “You want a turn?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he does; he wants to be fucked willingly. He wants to take cock down his throat and have it buried in his cunt because it’s what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants. “You let him raw you?” is the first thing that manages to come out of his mouth, however. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov giggles. “I got that good birth control,” he replies with a happy smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swan turns to look at him, dick still out, and still half-hard, dripping a mess on the floor. Swan looks him over, eyes scanning over him like he’s being assessed. Kavinsky glares but he walks over to the stack of workout mats and drops his pants and underwear before bending over. A position he knows well and won’t let Swan see his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like it from behind?” Swan asks as he walks up, positioning behind Kavinsky, thick fingers trailing over his cunt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he spits out the lie, not sure why he sounds so angry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Skov says from where he’s still lying back on the mats just inches away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky looks over and it takes him a moment to see Skov’s pussy now has a little jewel plug holding Swan’s mess inside. Jesus. He tears his eyes away and doesn’t say anything else, just stare at a poster on the wall detailing some muscle group of the chest and arms. Swan’s fingers touch his clit, working him up a little. He ends up ridiculously wet and feels his pussy practically drip with excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, you get wet so easy,” Swan mutters, two fingers pressing inside to open him up more. “Your pussy’s so cute, K.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky clenches his jaw, still staring at the poster. His mind travels back to times he’s spent in his father’s office, how he’s been wet for his fucking dad, too. How his father would praise him about his pretty cunt and how he takes cock so well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Built to be bred</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his father would tell him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a shame you want to be a man, Joseph, you would bear children easily. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can still recall a time when he’d been taken to an abortion clinic by his uncle to terminate a pregnancy from his own father at thirteen. How awful and embarrassing it had been, considering at that time he’d told his father he’s really his father’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Kosta had taken the news well, all things considered; he’s always wanted a son and allowed him to start dressing differently, going by Joseph instead of his dead name. At fifteen, he’d been allowed to start transitioning but when he mentioned being gay to his father once, he’d been beaten so badly his nose is still off kilter from the break. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father could handle him being his son but absolutely not a gay one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t remember when his pussy goes from having Swan’s fingers inside to having his dick inside but Swan is larger than his father. He cries out, unsure if he could have ever properly prepared for Swan’s fucking monster cock. “Shit,” he gasps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” Swan asks, hand on his hips. “You seemed wet enough-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he growls. “Just fuck me, man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they just fuck and get it over with, maybe they’ll stop bugging him to have sex. Kavinsky closes his eyes when Swan starts to fuck him, wishing he could stop thinking about his father but he can’t. All of the times he’s had his father inside of him, all of the times his consent has been ripped away from him like it doesn’t matter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Consent is overrated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can remember all of the times he’s come even though he didn’t want to come. He can remember every time his father has blown his load into him in technicolor; he’d always thought his mind would suppress the abuse but instead he remembers it like a 4K Ultra HD film. He can remember all of the times his father exposed him to illegal porn, snuff films, and inappropriate media. Everything about his childhood exists behind a black curtain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” Skov says and it’s enough to drag him back from his thoughts. “Joey…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he realizes he’s fucking crying. Tears are streaming down his face while he stares at that damn fucking poster. Embarrassed, he straightens up, pulling his clothes back on as he stumbles away, even though Swan tries to help and Skov is asking him what’s wrong. Once he’s dressed, Kavinsky runs away, legs wobbly as he goes downstairs. He rounds the corner with such speed, he knocks right into someone hard enough to almost knock him back down onto his ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck!” he growls, taking a moment to figure out who he’s walked into and seeing Dicky Three standing there looking surprised. For a moment, he doesn’t realize Gansey is holding onto him but then his cheeks turn pink and he shoves Gansey away. “Don’t touch me, man!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry- that was probably my fault,” Gansey says and Kavinsky is surprised to hear an apology.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky looks Gansey over, his head spinning. He needs to sit down because he’s dealing with too much right now. He sinks down onto the floor and covers his face, hoping he can calm down before he trips into an anxiety attack but he’s not sure he can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joseph?” Gansey asks, his voice sounding far away like he has cotton in his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s breathing too fast, the world is fuzzy at the edges, and quickly darkening. Nausea makes him feel sick and God, he’s so tired, he just needs to lie down- </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Joseph.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joey?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. Not his father. Skov? Swan? Who the fuck is talking to him. Kavinsky slowly pries his eyes open, seeing Skov hovering over him and Gansey pulling him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give him some air,” Gansey says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky tries to sit up but Gansey has a hand on his chest. “Don’t touch me, man,” he says again, shoving Gansey’s hand off of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t sit up too fast, you fainted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got that.” He groans, managing to sit up slowly, leaning back against the wall. Swan is standing in the back of them, looking concerned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You on something?” Gansey asks and Kavinsky’s eyes narrow. Maybe it’s a fair question, considering his history but goddamn, he can’t even faint without Dick thinking he’s high. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he snaps. “Just… I’m fine, alright?” Not Dick’s business why he was a mess earlier, it’s not anyone’s business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s take you to the nurse’s office,” Gansey argues. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can walk him,” Swan says but Kavisky says </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> immediately before he can think. He doesn’t mean to hurt Swan’s feelings but he can’t be around him right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll walk him,” Gansey replies. “As class president, it is my duty.” He helps Kavinsky stand up before he can protest and supports him while standing there. “You two should get to class.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skov and Swan glare at Gansey in full force but they end up heading off, both of them looking like kicked dogs. Kavinsky wants to tell Gansey to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off</span>
  </em>
  <span> but the scent of Armani and chlorine is stupidly intoxicating. He leans into Gansey instead, admiring how firm he is from working out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Gansey asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey sighs. “Are you alright enough to walk with me or do you want to sit again?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky snorts. “I can walk, man.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They start walking through the empty halls, back across campus toward the main office so he can be handed off to the nurse. He’s sure this is absolutely killing Dick to do so Kavinsky walks slower than necessary, wanting to drag everything out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one is going to believe me when I say my knight in shining armor was Dicky Three,” Kavinsky teases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you make everything into an ordeal, Joseph?” Gansey asks tone that of an exhausted middle-aged mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you act like I have herpes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you helping me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m obligated-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you cheer if I killed myself?” he asks, only partially joking. His suicide ideation has been a part of him for so long, he’s surprised he hasn’t metaphorically and literally pulled the trigger yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey blinks, looking at him with a bit of disgust on his face. “Do not make jokes like that, Joseph. They’re in poor taste.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re close to the nurse’s station so Kavinsky disentangles himself from Gansey’s grip. “Bold of you to assume I’m fucking joking,” he replies and winks. “I can handle it from here, Dick. You can forego your obligation.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Joseph.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asks, his turn to now sound exhausted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey stares at him through narrowed eyes, looking unsure and skeptical for a moment. “The counselor’s office is on the way, you should stop by.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky laughs and flips Gansey off. “See you later, Dicky.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, how silly Dick is to think the counselor would ever care about him. He continues laughing, all the way to the nurse’s office. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Three days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The amount of days Ronan Lynch has given him a ride to and from school unprompted. He’s not even sure why he agreed to take the rides but maybe he’s just tired of biking. The first time Ronan had driven him home, they’d managed to stuff his bike into the trunk and drive slower than usual. Adam had also asked Ronan to drop him off two roads away from the trailer park, next to a few houses. He’d walked towards the yard until Ronan had driven away and he’d biked the rest of the way to his trailer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, by day three, Ronan had figured out he’s a liar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, now, on day four, Ronan’s BMW had pulled up to the trailer’s driveway while Adam rushed outside to the car away from the gaze of Robert Parrish. His home is not a real home; the trailer park is not a place for staying but a place for leaving. He’d expected judgment to enter Ronan’s eyes when he slid into the passenger’s seat but Ronan had simply offered him a donut from a bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at the offered donut and slowly accepts the treat. “Uh, thanks,” he says slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan nods and spins the BMW around, kicking up dust and gravel. There is a sharp smirk on Ronan’s face which states: do not touch this creature, it bites. Then again, most things about Ronan Lynch exude this same sentiment. Dangerous. Volatile. Bio-hazardous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They speed off out of the trailer park and down the road toward the high school. Ronan pushes the BMW as if he doesn’t believe in speed limits and even though he’s only known Ronan Lynch for a small amount of time, Adam is fairly certain he doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you ever drive the speed limit?” Adam asks after he finishes off his donut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan doesn’t look at him, eyes on the road, techno vibrating through the car, and maybe he didn’t even hear him. They’re approaching the school and a line of cars pulling in so finally, Ronan has no choice but to slow down or crash. He looks frustrated as he pulls up behind some other cars, immediately growing irritated and bored. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah,” he finally says. “Speed limits are for losers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speed limits are for safety,” Adam corrects. “What if you hit someone?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m an excellent driver, man, you’re safe. Don’t be a fucking loser, Parrish. Don’t Gansey me.” They pull into the parking lot and Ronan cruises through, heading toward Gansey’s Camaro; he steals the spot beside Gansey’s car from a Honda with their turn signal on. The other driver honks but Ronan just flips them off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Classy,” Adam remarks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan flashes a sharp grin like a venomous snake. Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Venomous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam shudders as he climbs out of the black BMW and notes there is a white Mitsubishi parked in the lot, the hood no longer an offense to the eyes. Kavinsky must have had the car fixed. “Looks like Kavinsky fixed his car.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan grunts. “God, it’s so fucking ugly,” Ronan says but there’s no bite in his words. Adam isn’t sure he believes Ronan at all, actually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He almost opens his mouth to say exactly this sentiment but is interrupted when someone collides into his back as if that’s completely normal. Adam grunts, stumbling forward and almost eating pavement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost got you, Parrish,” comes a familiar voice. Adam blushes when he realizes it’s Blue practically tackling him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck are you?” Ronan asks, raising a dubious black eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Blue spits back. Tit for tat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Blue this is Ronan Lynch-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> who he is,” Blue replies. “Who fucking doesn’t? Gansey’s dog.” Ronan sneers at the nickname. “He buy you a collar yet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blue, c’mon, stop that,” Adam says, anxiety making his accent slip. He doesn’t want Ronan to be angry and walk off even if he’s not sure he wants his food to mix together. Blue is part of the trailer park life and Ronan is shiny and new; part of the Touched by Gansey Club. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Ronan answers and then he snaps his teeth together in a faux bite. “Watch out, Sargent, I haven’t been vaccinated.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, you two know each other?” Adam asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have history together,” Blue replies as she starts on toward the school at Adam’s side. “I’ve missed biking to school with you but I guess you’re moving up in the world, Parrish.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Adam says immediately even if there isn’t really a reason to apologize. “I’m not trying to ignore you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue smirks but nods. “Walk me to my locker?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure…” Adam turns to Ronan. “I’ll meet you by Gansey’s locker?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan nods and storms off like he’s angry but Adam has come to learn that that is just how Ronan is as a person. Adam walks Blue to her locker as he said he would, listening to her tell him stories about the clients her mom has taken over the past few days. She spins tales of tarot readings and one seance which Adam only half listens to but his mind is racing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey’s locker is not too far away, down the hallway near the back stairwells. He glances across the crowd and spots Ronan Lynch walking toward Gansey’s locker, walking tall, and like he has a chip on his shoulder. Adam has come to learn that that is also just how Ronan Lynch seems to exist. Always angry and ready to fight, cagey and tense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You listening to me?” Blue asks and Adam starts a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no,” he admits softly. “Sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You daydreaming about your new boyfriend?” Blue teases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam’s cheeks flush. “I don’t have a-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know but I see how Gansey fauns over you, it’s fucking cute.” Blue laughs a bit. “You got a thing for him?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richard Campbell Gansey III - golden boy, poster boy, class President, captain of the swim team, rich beyond his imagination, and his apparent new best friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam still isn’t sure how it happened but as soon as they started talking, they clicked like a key in a well-fitted lock. Unlocking a friendship with Gansey had propelled him in the social stratosphere so quickly, Adam can still feel the aftershocks from the launch. Everyone wants to be Gansey’s best friend but for some reason, Gansey had picked a high school delinquent and </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You got a thing for him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, who doesn’t have a thing for Gansey? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If not for his money, his looks, and if not for his money and looks, his charm could talk anyone into anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey is the kind of man anyone would want. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, he’s attractive if that’s what you’re asking,” Adam replies quietly, “But he’s not for me.” No, Adam’s post is hitched closest to dangerous creatures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, you’ve got that fucking right,” Blue mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam chuckles. “You want to take him for a ride?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue blushes and gives Adam a dark look. “Yeah, sure, as soon as I grow five inches taller, two cups larger, and gain a trust fund the size of Canada. Maybe he’ll notice me then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam shrugs. “Honestly, he’s not that shallow, Blue,” he says quietly. “Gansey’s rich but he’s not a shallow asshole- I mean, he’s out of touch with a lot of shit but he’s open to learning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue hums but the conversation ends as they stop at Adam’s locker, where he grabs a couple of notebooks, and then they’re both walking toward Gansey. Ronan leans back against the locker next to Gansey, looking casual and uncaring but people steer clear of him which is a neat trick Adam wishes he could pocket and learn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adam Parrish!” Gansey greets warmly with a huge smile. “Oh, and who is this?” He holds out his hand for a handshake and Ronan sniggers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blue,” Blue replies shortly, glancing at his hand, and not bothering to take it. “We’re not in a business meeting, it’s just the hallway, weirdo.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like her,” Ronan says immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey blushes a bit and slowly pulls his hand back in. “Well, it’s nice to meet you… Blue? What an interesting name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Blue mutters. “I’ve heard it all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey hums and pulls a book out of his locker. “Adam, I brought this for you.” He holds out the book which looks as if it’s seen better days. “A lot of information in there about Glendower.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s Glendower?” Blue asks before Ronan or Adam can stop her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey’s eyes widen as he shuts his locker and he opens his mouth to immediately dive in but Ronan steps between them rudely. “Ronan-.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t got time, Dick,” Ronan replies. “Class time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since when do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> come to class?” Adam asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan shrugs. “Since forever, man, maybe you just haven’t noticed. Too busy buried in your notes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm.” Adam rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what another interesting name is,” Gansey muses out loud. “Jane. What a nice name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue shoots a glare so sharp Adam can feel it pierce through his chest and right into Gansey’s. “Don’t you fucking dare, Money Bags.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Gansey asks. “It’s just a nice name for a lady. Jane.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a lady,” Blue snarls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get to class,” Adam says. “I’ll talk to you later, Blue?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue glares but nods. “Sure, whatever. See you later, Fido… Money Bags.” She flips Gansey off and walks the other way, leaving the three of them together in the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan snorts, starting toward their classroom. “Yep, I like her.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>End of day marks Adam standing around and waiting by the front doors, watching students walk past him, eager to be set free. The seat of students parts for a moment, allowing Gansey and Ronan to walk through; Gansey a golden ray of sunlight with the confidence of a king in his step while Ronan stalks beside him like a shadow, dangerous energy ebbing off of him in waves. People make a wide berth from Ronan while they all want to step closer to Gansey, to be in the sun’s gravitational pull just for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Parrish!” Gansey greets with the kind of smile men go to war over. “I am definitely ready for the weekend, what about you? Are you doing anything in particular?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Homework,” Adam replies. “And I work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Work?” Gansey asks, sounding downright scandalized. Sometimes, Adam can squint at Gansey and not be blinded by the sun, seeing him as simply a seventeen-year-old boy like him but then Gansey says something reminiscent of the rich and privileged. “Why on earth would you be working?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I have to,” he replies quietly. “It’s survival.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey looks disappointed as if Adam has shat all over his ideal weekend dreams, and he hates how guilt pits his stomach. Disappointing Gansey feels a bit like sacrilege. Unforgivable. “Well, do you work the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire</span>
  </em>
  <span> weekend?” Gansey asks. “I was hoping we could all hang out together.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hang out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words almost feel foreign on Gansey’s tongue because he has no idea what </span>
  <em>
    <span>hanging out</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Gansey would even look like. Surely, they’d end up just discussing Glendower and addressing Gansey’s obsessive search for him the entire time. He looks to Ronan, wondering if there is a look on Lynch’s face to give away any Gansey secrets; however, Ronan doesn’t seem to be paying attention to them. Blue eyes are focused elsewhere, over Adam’s head, and just staring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, so much for allies in the face of uncertainty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I have a shift at Boyd’s tonight,” Adam replies. “Then I was going to work on homework tomorrow and Saturday night I might pick up a shift again if they need me… and Sunday is college essay time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> rest?” Gansey asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rest. A foreign country as far as Adam is concerned. He shrugs a little. “I need to get to work so I should be getting home…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can take you to work,” Ronan says, snapping back to them like a rubber band. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll probably be late before I…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t sleep,” Ronan replies immediately. “I don’t mind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The offer makes Adam blush because he doesn’t like accepting things from people so freely but he is exhausted and biking to and from work sounds absolutely tortuous. Besides, it’s just this one time. After this weekend, he’ll go back to biking to school and work, no more freebies from the rich boys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Ronan continues. “I’ll text you later, Gansey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam gives Gansey a quick look of apology before he has no choice but to follow Ronan to the parking lot. They walk alongside each other, Adam’s strides not quite as long as Ronan’s but Ronan keeps his pace even so Adam doesn’t have to rush to keep up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know a lot about cars?” Ronan asks once they’re alone, heading for the black BMW. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam looks at Ronan and he can hear the piqued interest in Ronan’s tone even if the other boy doesn’t make eye contact while they walk. No, he’s fiddling with the bracelets around his wrist, chewing on them and pulling at them with his teeth. One of Ronan’s many Ronanisms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know enough to get by,” he replies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You work at Boyd’s, you clearly know more than just enough,” Ronan replies. “You a full-fledged mechanic, Parrish? I honestly thought you were just a weird Gansey nerdy clone but I guess you’re actually a badass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t been to trade school, so I can’t say I’m a mechanic but I know enough.” Adam shrugs. He probably knows a lot more than most of the guys at the shop which is why Boyd himself hired Adam on despite him being just a kid. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You graduate, go to trade school, I’ll make ya my top mechanic, boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words had struck fear in Adam’s heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many boys in Henrietta would love the opportunity to be a top mechanic and Adam will never shirk their wages. He knows mechanics can make good money but Adam has always dreamed of </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>; more than being a mechanic, more than living in his shitty homophobic town, and more than just being Adam Parrish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know anything about street racing?” Ronan asks and when they reach the BMW he turns sharply on his Doc Martens to face Adam with curious blue eyes. There’s almost something manic about Ronan’s gaze, like a wild beast simmering beneath the surface wanting to be released. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… know it’s illegal?” Adam asks slowly. “Do you race?” He doesn’t really have to ask because everyone knows about Kavinsky’s street racing. It’s almost like Fight Club - the first rule about street racing is you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> about street racing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan smirks dangerously which is his default setting but Adam still feels a shiver run down his spine. “What time are you off work tonight?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nine,” Adam replies slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan’s smile, cutting his face like a knife only widens. “Perfect.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Black grease beneath Adam’s fingernails and sweat on his brow is how Adam greets Ronan after his shift. The parking lot is dark and quiet while Boyd walks back to his house, the other guys are already gone. He’s dressed in the same clothes he wore to school, bag over his shoulder. Studying while working has become a habit and while Boyd is mostly just his boss, sometimes the older man will give him extra time to work on homework when they’re slow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan is leaning back against his black BMW, chewing on his leather bracelets when Adam steps outside. Before Ronan looks at him, Adam takes a moment to study Ronan like one would study a foreign art sculpture. The halo of light from the flickering sign overhead sends a halo effect around Ronan’s peripheral; his hawk nose cuts through the light sharply and his jaw is a honed edge. He leans back against the car in a modern contrapposto, trying to look casual as any cool guy would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam approaches from Ronan’s right and when Ronan finally looks at him, there is a moment where he stops chewing the leather of his bracelets and stares open-mouthed at him. Ronan’s bright blue eyes twinkle a little in the dark and then he finally snaps his jaw shut and drops his arm where it had been frozen in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You good?” Ronan asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam nods. “I’m done… You really didn’t have to do this… Also, I can’t be home too late. I have a curfew of eleven.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s plenty of time,” Ronan replies. “Get in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are rumors around the school about Joseph Kavinsky’s street racing - goading rich boys in their fast cars, his white Mitsubishi chasing inferior cars light to light. Adam isn’t surprised to see Ronan seems to prescribe to the same hobby, considering the kind of car he drives and the way he likes antagonizing Kavinsky’s crew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They drive out of the country and back onto the highway where they leave the small town of Henrietta and go to the next town over. Supposedly, Kavinsky and his mom live out here in some affluent neighborhood in an ugly McMansion and this is where they race at night. More room and the cops are in Mr. Kavinsky’s pocket - at least, that’s what they say. Adam is too new to know a lot of truths but not so new he hasn’t heard all of the rumor mills churnings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan drives around for a while until a group of loud, brightly colored sports cars seem to appear out of nowhere. Two pull up on either side of Ronan’s car, honking, and the boys leaning out the windows to antagonize him but Ronan keeps his jaw set and gaze in the rearview as if he’s waiting on something. Adam looks over at the boy on the right and sees blue hair and silver piercings - Skov. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises a v shape to his mouth and slides his tongue out between them, laughing right after. Adam blushes at the gesture, drawing his gaze back to Ronan. The two cars take off when the light turns green but Ronan stays, just idling and waiting. They wait for so long, Adam grows anxious. Two redlights later and they haven’t moved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ronan…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There he is, the bastard,” Ronan mutters with a sharp smirk on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam looks in the side mirror, finally noting a white car rolling up, appearing like a ghost. Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi. Ronan turns his music down and leans over just a little to yell over at K’s car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you fixed your car,” Ronan says. “Too bad the cops didn’t pull you over first, give you a nice cavity search.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky looks over at them, tilting his sunglasses down, chewing on gum, and looking bored. “That trailer park boy?” he asks. Adam grimaces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Kavinsky,” Ronan snaps sharply. “You can say what you want about me but don’t you fucking start in on my friends.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I struck a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nerve</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kavinsky muses. “Hmm, is trailer park boy Three’s new boyfriend? He replace you finally, Lynch? Or is a threesome now? Let me guess, Three tops both of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam’s face turns red and he looks away. He shouldn't let what a rat-faced asshole says dig under his skin but he knows how people look at him. They take one look at him and see a poor boy from Appalaicha - they assume he’s inbred, they presume he’s stupid, and they make jokes about how his shoes are falling off of his feet and his clothes are horribly secondhand. He’s never owned a single new thing in his entire life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything on his person is used and beaten down to shit because he’s never been made of money. Now, he’s friends with two of the richest boys in the entire school. He’s sure people talk but he’s also sure Gansey would never let them. Even though Gansey is definitely out of touch when it comes to money, he has been a good friend so far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, Adam has never had to deal with assholes being rude to him - except this one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure do think a lot about us gay guys for not being gay,” Ronan says with a bark of a laugh. “That all you ever think about, you Jersey trash piece of shit?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kavinsky doesn’t seem affected by Ronan’s insults, just looking away, still chewing gum as the light starts to flicker through its cycle. He rolls his window up as a response and Ronan recoils back into his seat, starting to focus. Adam watches as they sit through the red light and the way Ronan starts to prepare the BMW. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on, Parrish,” Ronan growls as the light turns green. There isn’t really enough time to prepare but both cars launch forward like they’re bullets being released from the barrel of a gun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam sinks back into his seat just from the sheer force alone and for a moment all he fears is pure fear. Anxiety fills him for a moment, where he can just picture them all splattered across the asphalt, and no one would even care if he died but then the anxiety dissipates as Ronan climbs in gears and speed. No, he finds himself slowly starting to smile, and then his anxiety just turns into excitement and laughter. The laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it and he cheers them on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re practically flying and Adam wonders if this is what it means to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>free</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No obligations, no concern for consequences; just living life to its fullest and experiencing the rush of being reckless. Adam looks over in time to see the Mitsubishi hitch and then Ronan flies past him and he can see Kavinsky yelling and flipping them off. He laughs even harder at the sight, turning his gaze to see Ronan’s reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan Lynch doesn’t smile. Ronan Lynch doesn’t experience joy the same way other people do, in Adam’s opinion. He’s hardly seen the guy smile or laugh but the look on his face now is possibly the most joyous he’s ever seen Ronan. A smile cuts open Ronan’s face like an open wound and there is great joy practically pouring out of him. The kind of joy cats experience when they eat their favorite prey. On anyone else, the smile would be psychotic but on Ronan it’s simply perfect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Adam gasps. He looks back at the sports cars in the street, the Mitsubishi slowly disappearing as Ronan keeps driving, albeit not as fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan’s grin widens. “You like racing, Parrish?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like you beating Kavinsky.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A barked laugh answers him. “Not hard, Kavinsky always fucks up fourth gear, he’s a shit driver.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The school acts like he’s a legend,” Adam argues, confused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, a legend amongst other shitty drivers,” Ronan snorts. “Kavinsky likes to goad guys who have shitty cars to race him because he knows he can beat them by sheer horsepower alone…. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a shitty driver and can’t do fourth gear. He misses the sweet spot </span>
  <em>
    <span>every time</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam snorts and laughs a bit. “Yeah, I heard some girl say that the other day about him, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This makes Ronan laugh so hard he has to slow down so he doesn’t careen them into traffic. Adam laughs, too, even if he just made that up on the spot to see if he could make Ronan laugh. It worked but he’s not sure if he should have said it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess I should take you home,” Ronan says, even if he sounds a little unhappy about it but Adam is certain he’d just misheard Ronan entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam checks the time and while there is still time before his curfew, he supposes it is better to be home early than late when it comes to Robert Parrish. “Yeah, probably,” he says. “I have a lot of work to do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence falls over the car then until Ronan turns on his electronic music. He turns it up until the car shakes with the bass and he speeds back to the countryside of Henrietta. They pass small businesses and shuttered homes, leaving behind the rich areas and slowly the population seems to spread out as country replaces suburbia. They arrive at the dusty trailer park too soon in Adam’s opinion which is partially due to Ronan’s speeding but also because there isn’t any traffic to keep them from arriving without impediments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan pulls into the gravel driveway and they sit for a moment in the BMW together. Luckily, Ronan had turned his music down before they pulled down the lonely road so it wouldn’t wake people up. Sometimes, Ronan isn’t as big of an asshole as people make him out to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you at school,” Ronan says. “Unless Gansey drags us out this weekend, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam nods. “Yeah, see you at school- um, Monday, I’ll just bike, okay?” he says, adding the last bit on quickly. “Blue wants me to bike with her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a moment where Adam swears he sees disappointment flick over Ronan’s face but then as soon as he recognizes the emotion, it’s gone, and Ronan’s mask returns. “Whatever, man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But thank you. For your help.” Adam eases out of the car and heads toward the front door. He can see the curtains moving, probably his mom spying on him. He tries not to look annoyed as he steps into the front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robert Parrish, the bastard he has to call father, is waiting on him as soon as he comes in. Adam shuts the door and his father holds out his hand expectantly. Right, it was pay Friday. Every other Friday, he has no choice but to hand over his paycheck - well, one of them. What his father </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know is he has Boyd split his pay up so he receives two checks. One for him and one for his parents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches into his bag and hands over the check for snatching. His father looks at the amount and squints a little. “This it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam nods. “Yes, Sir.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This ain’t gonna pay the damn bills, boy. You ain’t workin’ enough hours,” Robert Parrish snarls. “You need to do more, pull yer damn weight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam looks down, his face burning a bit in shame but also anger - mostly anger. He’s done nothing but </span>
  <em>
    <span>pull his weight</span>
  </em>
  <span> since he turned eleven years old and he started working. He’s worked so many jobs in his short eighteen years, he’s absolutely exhausted from how much he’s done. While his mother doesn’t work and his father is constantly bouncing between jobs, Adam has been their main source of income and now he’s a senior in high school. He’d asked Boyd to flip his pay percentages - sixty percent for him and forty for his parents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he’s going to go to Harvard next fall, he needs to make sure he has some pocket money to escape with as a backup. The secret money lives in a box buried in his closet. Tomorrow, he’ll have to bike into town to cash this one out of fear his father will go through his belongings and find the second check. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’ll work harder,” Adam mutters, hoping this can be the end of their conversation. He just wants to go to his room and go to bed. No confrontations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’ll fuckin’ work harder or I’ll throw yer ass out on the damn street! See if you can fend for yourself,” Robert snarls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, if only that were true but he technically needs a roof over his damn head for a few more months. He just has to survive until the summer at least  - every summer, Blue’s mother offers for him to move in but he’s never detailed to Blue or her mother how bad his home life truly is because of how embarrassed he is by the fact. It’s bad enough people look at him and see a poor boy with no education - he doesn’t want to be the abused boy, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Adam replies, eyes still down. “May I be excused, now? I have homework I should work on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him go to bed, Robert,” his mother says, sounding tired and on the edge of a bad mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father’s face turns beet red and then his upper lip lifts in a snarl. Inhale, Adam is standing and waiting for a reply. Exhale, Adam is on the floor because his father’s fist connected with the side of his head and slammed him into the plaster wall of the trailer. His earrings and his head spins while his mother screams at Robert to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop, not tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They start yelling at one another and Adam slowly covers his head with his arms, trying to protect himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhale, Adam Parrish is eighteen years old. Exhale, Adam Parrish is eight years old and terrified for his life. Inhale, Adam Parrish is crying and crawling away. Exhale, Adam Parrish is being told he’s worthless and they’re going to starve because of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Him. Him. Him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just keep breathing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life will be better on the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam crawls across the linoleum of the kitchen and the dirty carpet of the living room to the short hallway which leads to both the smaller bathroom and his bedroom. He only stands up again when he’s able to open the bedroom door and step inside. Once the door is shut, Adam leans back against it, tears streaming down his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks of golden boy Gansey, all perfect soldier teeth, and captivating words flowing out of his mouth like honeysuckle and wine. He thinks of brash Ronan, all sharp canines and venomous, vicious bites. He thinks of Blue, all bark with only a little bite, and a peculiar way of knowing someone’s inner demons like her own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friends would all want to help him but he’s always been too proud to accept help. He can’t even accept Gansey’s lunch he never finishes because he’s too fucking proud. Right now, however, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, beaten and exhausted, he doesn’t feel proud. All he feels is empty and defeated like he means nothing at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls out his phone and checks to see how many minutes he has left. Not a lot, he’ll have to use some of his paycheck to buy more, but it’s enough to call someone. Send a couple of texts to one of them but he has no idea who to ask for help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue will just snap at him how he should have asked for help sooner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gansey will probably start offering him financial solutions which he doesn’t want to hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Ronan… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Ronan is a wild card. Ronan is rich, too, but he isn’t the same kind of rich as Gansey. He also never flaunts his money as far as Adam can tell. He doesn’t offer to share anything or act like a concerned bestie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ronan… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam brings the phone to his ear to listen to Ronan’s ring. The only other problem is Ronan Lynch hardly ever answers his goddamn- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Parrish,” Rona greets. “Didn’t I just leave your ass at home?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you home already?” Adam asks quietly, afraid the answer will be yes considering how Ronan drives. If Ronan is home, he’ll hang up and pretend he didn’t know what he was doing by calling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, just sitting here at a McDonald’s stuffing my face. What’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears start their way down his cheeks again and his voice cracks a little, “Can you pick me up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence answers him for so long, Adam wonders if his call dropped but then, finally, Ronan replies, “On my way, Adam.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adam. Not Parrish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More tears. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Barns.</p><p>A mystical homeland for the Lynch brothers three. A place for staying if you were Ronan Lynch and a place for leaving if you were Declan Lynch. Matthew Lynch is the only brother content to come or go, as long as there is food and a good video game to be had. </p><p>Ronan drives back through the long, twisting drive to the old white farmhouse, his jaw set. Adam had appeared outside of his car like a ghost with a bruise on the side of his face. He hadn’t said how he’d gotten the bruise but Ronan didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure it all out. He’d left Adam at home bruiseless and he returned to the BMW with a nasty shiner just thirty minutes or so later. </p><p>They don’t talk because Ronan knows if he did talk, he’d simply explode, and he doesn’t want to upset Adam further. So, they drive in silence except for the music Ronan picked out on the way back to the house - more techno. The best way to his heart is a good playlist. Luckily, Adam doesn’t complain the same way Declan would. He just exists beside him like an Adam-shaped robot. </p><p>The old white farmhouse appears at last, lit softly from within, the yellow lights cascading across the driveway and lawn. He’s hardly brought anyone here except for Gansey but he’s never really had any other friends besides Gansey anyway. </p><p>Well, Kavinsky has been here. </p><p>Ronan shudders as he remembers; it almost feels tainted knowing K has set foot here, on grounds he basically worships. He parks the BMW and turns off the car, the music cutting into silence - a soft hum of night animals floods in after. The chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls somewhere in the wood, frogs quietly singing their desperate calls. The Barns is a place for staying and living. A home full of love and stories and warmth. </p><p>He wonders if Adam can feel it too.</p><p>“This is your house?” Adam finally asks, voice a bullet in the quiet. </p><p>“Yep,” Ronan replies back. “We call it The Barns. Welcome to mi casa.”</p><p>Adam leans forward to peer out of the windshield. The moonlight overhead shines down on his angular face, lighting up sepia eyes to turn them silver. Adam’s skin washes out in the moonlight, only his freckles standing starkly like a mirror of the constellations above. The image is enough to drive Ronan mad and he bites his knuckles in response; he looks like a silver print, so beautiful and pristine. </p><p><em> Please </em>, he sends the silent prayer out into the universe, teeth gnawing at his skin desperately. </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Adam whispers. </p><p>Ronan keeps his eyes on Adam, in absolute agreement. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, in a very non-Ronan-like voice. He clears his throat and climbs out of the car. “Let’s go, Parrish,” he finishes before slamming the BMW’s door closed. </p><p>He looks at the empty space his brother’s Volvo used to occupy before he went off to college. He stares at the space for a little too long, picturing the ugly, boring-ass car his brother chooses to drive. <em> It’s safe and sensible, Ronan, unlike yours </em>, he’d probably say if he were here but Declan isn’t here. There’s a moment where his chest hurts as he tries to remember the last time Declan called; his birthday is soon, surely his older asshole d-bag of a brother wouldn’t miss the big one eight. </p><p>“Ronan?” Adam asks and Ronan realizes too late they’ve just been standing in the driveway, staring at an empty part of the driveway.</p><p>“Let’s go.” He walks away, shoving thoughts of Declan to the back of his mind where they can just fester for a while. The porch creaks beneath boots and sneakers and Ronan throws open the front door of the farmhouse. </p><p>The front entryway leads down to the kitchen, the sitting room to the right, and the staircase to the left. Pictures line the hall; various shots of his mother and father, images captured over the years of them growing up. There are shoes scattered on the wooden floor and the house groans its greeting. The Barns welcomes him as always and Ronan takes in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of wood and earth and <em> life </em>. </p><p>The Barns is his favorite place. </p><p>“Wow,” Adam whispers after he shuts the door and removes his shoes. </p><p>“Hungry, Parrish?” Ronan asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply walking down the hallway toward the kitchen where there is still a light on. The scent of freshly baked goods fills the house and only grows stronger the closer he draws to the awaiting kitchen. His mom probably baked cookies or bread again. “Mom?” </p><p>Aurora Lynch stands at the kitchen island, plating the fresh baked cookies he assumed correct just moments ago. She stands like a dream, blonde hair wild like cornsilk around her shoulders, her blue eyes glittering. She looks up when he walks in and there is a ghost of a smile on her face. “Ronan,” she greets softly. “Flowers and ravens.”</p><p>“Mom,” he greets just as softly. Ronan Lynch may be a hard-ass around everyone but never his mother. He will gladly be her little boy forever. He walks over to wrap his arms around her in a greeting, standing much taller than her now, her head to his chest. </p><p>“You’re home, I’m glad.” Aurora smiles and offers him a chocolate chip cookie.”Here, you could use more meat on your bones, Ronan.” </p><p>He accepts the cookie because he can never say no to his mom, eagerly pressing it into his mouth; the taste and texture are perfect, just like her, and then his eyes land on Parrish looking uncertain as he stands in the doorway. </p><p>“Oh,” Aurora says when she spots Adam, too. “Hello? Who are you?” </p><p>“This is Adam, Mom,” Ronan says around his cookie. “Friend from school.” </p><p>“Oh, my dear, you look absolutely exhausted. Come sit down and let me feed you.” Aurora sweeps over to the pantry to look around for something quick to make.</p><p>“Oh, ma’am, it’s alright-,” Adam says quickly, his cheeks turning rosy red. Ronan smiles a little at the sight.</p><p>“No, no, I insist, please.” Aurora gestures for them both to sit down before she’s quick to start cooking. </p><p>Ronan shrugs one shoulder at Adam and sits down on a stool, nodding to the other for Adam. “Don’t worry, Parrish, Mom does this for everyone who comes here,” he teases. “Even me.” </p><p>Aurora gives him a little motherly look, almost like a warning but doesn’t respond. She just starts singing softly in a beautiful voice which makes Ronan want to fucking cry. He doesn’t fucking cry, though. He just looks at Adam sitting next to him, looking too skinny and angular in this brightly lit place. No wonder his mother wants to feed him. He grabs the plate of cookies and scoots them over toward Adam. </p><p>“Don’t spoil your dinner, boys,” Aurora warns, even though she hasn’t turned around. </p><p>“Sorry,” Adam says immediately, drawing his hand away. </p><p>Ronan frowns but doesn’t take another cookie or comment. They sit, listening to Aurora sing quietly until she is putting spaghetti and meatballs on plates for them, passing the food over with a warm smile. He may have just had McDonald’s but he will gladly eat his mom’s cooking anytime, no matter how full he is. </p><p>“Thank you, ma’am,” Adam says politely.</p><p>“Of course, dear,” Aurora replies. “I’m sure you’re both tired after school.” </p><p>“I’ll clean up, Mom,” Ronan says before she can start. “You should rest.”</p><p>Aurora reaches over to run her hand lovingly over his shaved head. “Of course, thank you, my dear. I think I’ll go finish that embroidery for your father.” </p><p>Ronan’s stomach drops and his mouth forms a thin line. “He’ll love it,” he says tightly as Aurora drifts out of the kitchen, still like a dream, always wandering about like she’s in a fairy tale. Suddenly, he’s no longer hungry and he pushes the food away. Anger makes him stand up and clean the kitchen, slamming things as he goes. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Adam asks as he eats. </p><p>“Nothing,” he snaps back coldly even if he’s as loud as a siren right now. His mood is screaming at the top of its lungs while he’s trapped in a body of flesh and bone. </p><p>“Don’t lie,” Adam remarks. </p><p>“I don’t lie,” he spits back even if he’s not sure that’s not a lie either. He hates lying because his brother is a pathological liar just like his father had been. The only Lynch’s who don’t lie are Aurora and Matthew. </p><p>He’s probably no better than Niall and Declan. </p><p>“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Adam replies quietly. </p><p>Secrets. They both carry them but Adam’s seem to be more visceral than his. He looks back at Adam, eyes falling on the bruise on the side of his face. It’s not as if the Niall Lynch story isn’t accessible in the public record; there had been a news story when it all happened but the aftermath is the real secret. </p><p>“My father was murdered,” Ronan replies, his voice dull as if it doesn’t affect him at all. “My mom still thinks he’s alive and going to come home. She lives in some weird fantasy that none of the rest of us do. Not even Matthew.” </p><p>Adam’s eyes widen slightly, looking completely stunned. “Ronan…” </p><p>“Don’t say, I’m so sorry, I don’t fucking want to hear it. I’m sick of the fucking pity from people. The whole fucking town treats me like an orphan,” Ronan snarls. In the colloquial sense, he is not an orphan, he technically has a living parent, but in the metaphorical sense… Aurora hasn’t been able to be his parent since Niall died. In a sense, he is an orphan. No, Declan is the head of the house now and Aurora’s power of attorney. He’s the one who pays the bills, buys them clothes, and keeps them full of groceries, even being hours away at school. </p><p>“So… She believes your father is going to come home one day?” Adam repeats, clearly trying to wrap his mind around the concept. “God, that’s awful.” </p><p>“Yeah,” he says bitterly. </p><p>“Has anyone tried to…” </p><p>“Tell her?” he spits back. “No. I don’t want her to wake up one day and realize the truth, it’s too fucked up.” </p><p>“But you had to have had a funeral? A headstone?” Adam asks. </p><p>Ronan thinks of how his father had been cremated and his ashes scattered across the property. Maybe Niall really is here somehow, in the roots of this place, his spirit always invoked anytime someone remembers him. His heart aches. </p><p>“He was cremated,” Ronan replies. He still has a few of his father’s ashes upstairs in his room, hidden in a box. He can’t even look at the box without crying. </p><p>Adam opens his mouth to speak but then slowly closes it. He doesn’t say anything else for a while, just finishing off his dinner. Ronan remains near the kitchen sink, leaning back against the counter, listening to the sounds of the house. Aurora is probably sitting in front of the fire, working on an embroidery she may never finish, and Matthew is upstairs probably playing a video game with his friends. Declan away at his fucking townhouse. </p><p>God, he wants to leave; he wants to race Kavinsky again, he wants to break something, he wants to burn the house down, he wants to wreck the BMW headfirst into a tree, he wants to jump off of the roof. He wants to scream. </p><p>“My dad hits me,” Adam finally says once he’s finished. “But I think you figured that out.” </p><p>“Yeah, I got a good guess,” Ronan replies. He wants to beat Robert Parrish’s face into the fucking wall. He wants to cut off the bastard’s hands and feed them to a dog. He wants. He wants. He wants. </p><p>“What do you want to do now?” Adam asks. </p><p>God, he wants to do too many things at once so he’s probably going to end up doing nothing at all. His brain buzzes incessantly telling him to do <em> something </em> because being bored sounds agonizing. He’s not sure Adam would understand because he’s never explained it to anyone. Gansey knows but he’s not sure Gansey understands. </p><p>Kavinsky understands. </p><p>They’re too similar.</p><p>Ronan’s stomach twists. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Staying here sounds shitty to me right now but I don’t know what to do.” </p><p>Adam hums, looking pensive. “Let’s call Gansey.” </p><p>Ronan studies his socks on the wooden floor and nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s call Gansey.” </p><hr/><p>Monmouth Manufacturing. </p><p>The worn-down warehouse is not a place for staying but it is a place for visiting. Ronan’s BMW crunches through gravel and rock as he parks outside, looking up at where he can see Gansey’s lights on in the large glass windows. He wonders if Adam has come here yet, probably not. </p><p>God, being a Monmouth virgin is definitely an experience he’s not sure he’d wish on anyone. </p><p>“This is where Gansey <em> lives </em>?” Adam asks, completely taken aback. </p><p>Ronan snorts. “Let me guess, you pictured a ridiculous mansion, right? Yeah, his parents have one but they’re in DC. He’s here in Henrietta.”</p><p>“<em> Here </em>?” Adam asks, gesturing at the building which probably needs to be condemned. </p><p>He can’t help but laugh. Okay, maybe being a Monmouth virgin is just funny. “Yep,” he replies. “Gansey’s weird, what can I say? He invited me to room with him but I didn’t want to leave Matthew at home all the time alone.” Alone is relative because Matthew is just as spacy as his mother sometimes and someone has to make sure Matthew actually goes to school. </p><p>Adam looks up at the tall building, seeming flabbergasted but after a moment he just gives up. “This is absolutely the kind of place I imagined him in,” he admits. “When I think about it.” </p><p>Ronan opens the door to the first floor and takes Adam up the stairs to the second floor and Gansey’s apartment. He doesn’t knock, just opens the door up and steps inside. “Honey, we’re home,” he calls dryly, eyes falling on where Gansey is surrounded by decimated Cheerio boxes and strings of hot glue. </p><p>Gansey waves once in their direction, his attention fully on gluing the side of two pieces of cardboard together while he chews on a mint leaf. Ronan walks over to the bed in the middle of the room and flops down on the mattress without another word, just looking up at the vaulted ceiling. He’s sure Parrish will speak enough for the both of them. </p><p>“Hello, Adam,” Gansey greets, still working on his little buildings. </p><p>“Gansey…” Adam walks around, looking at the bookshelves lining the walls and all of the little Gansey-isms tucked all over the place. There are couches and a pool table, recently purchased, and the toilet is in the kitchen. Ronan loves it here; this is his second favorite place. He even has his own room here when he stays over, while the other is for Noah. </p><p>Speaking of Noah, Ronan sits up and walks over to the door, throwing it open. “Noah!” he shouts. “Get your ass out here, we’ve got company. Jesus Christ, you think you’d be more fucking polite.” </p><p>“Language,” Noah replies as he appears suddenly in the doorway. So suddenly, Ronan has to blink a few times to convince his brain that Noah had been there this entire time. </p><p>“Oh, shove it,” he pipes back. He drags Noah out by the arm, skin always cold as ice. “Parrish, this is Noah,” he says. </p><p>Adam turns to look at Noah and smiles. ”Hello,” he greets quietly. </p><p>“You never introduced us before,” Noah says sadly as if they’ve had time for introductions. “I was right there the other day.”</p><p>“<em> When </em>?” Ronan asks. “I didn’t see you.” </p><p>“Well, I was there,” Noah replies forlornly. </p><p>“Sorry, Noah,” Gansey offers. “But now you know Adam.”</p><p>Noah walks up to Adam, looking him over curiously like a dog before he disperses back to his room without another word. Ronan just shrugs in Adam’s direction before grabbing a piece of paper strewn across the floor. The paper crumples in his hand without resistance and he tosses it at the side of Gansey’s head. </p><p>“Ronan,” Gansey says in warning. </p><p>“Pay attention to me,” he replies. “Why Parrish and I dragged our asses over here on a Friday night.” </p><p>“Yes, well, some of us are busy.” Gansey gestures to his mini cardboard town.</p><p>Ronan rolls his eyes. “Christ, you’re so boring sometimes.” He wads up another piece of paper and tosses it, watching it slap against Gansey’s temple. “Pay attention to me.”</p><p>“If I give you attention now, will you let me finish this later?” Gansey asks calmly, seeming unperturbed by flying missiles.</p><p>“Yes,” Ronan replies because later he can entertain himself he’s sure. For now, though, he needs a distraction.</p><p>Gansey puts his glue gun down, unplugging it from an extension cord, and stretching a bit. Once he’s standing, he walks over to sit on a couch, eyes on Ronan. “What do you want to do, Ronan?” </p><p>God, that fucking question again. <em> What do you want to do, Ronan? What now, Ronan? </em>He doesn’t fucking know which is absolutely part of the problem and definitely not the solution. If he says what he’s thinking, Gansey will just be angry or think he needs help but he doesn’t want help. He just wants to have thoughts unapologetically. </p><p>“I don’t know, man,” Ronan replies, throwing his hands up in the air. “I came to you for ideas.” </p><p>Gansey hums. “Well, considering the hour, there isn’t much open in Henrietta,” he says slowly. “And I do not want to do anything that could have us all arrested.”</p><p>“Boring,” Ronan mutters but doesn’t push it. He’s almost tempted to just <em> leave </em>, find Kavinsky, and do something stupid. Like beat him up or egg his car or buy drugs off of him. No - he doesn’t do drugs. God, sometimes he wishes he did but his vices come in brown bottles. “I’m gonna take off and do something stupid if no one suggests something soon.” </p><p>Gansey huffs. “Do you want to watch a movie?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Do you want to go for a drive?” </p><p>A possibility. “Do I get to drive?” </p><p>“Absolutely not,” Gansey replies immediately. “Not in my car.” </p><p>Ronan pouts. “I wanna drive.” </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“C’mon, Dick, let’s drive to DC tonight,” Ronan says even though he knows it’s at least a six-hour drive and Gansey will never spring for it. God, he probably wouldn’t even drive the four hours to Alexandria to fuck with Declan’s Volvo. </p><p>Gansey has a moment where he shuts his eyes and looks like a forty-year-old man and not seventeen. “Don’t call me Dick, Ronan. Please.” </p><p>Right. Gansey hates being called Dick. “DC?” </p><p>“Not tonight.” </p><p>Ronan groans, flopping around like a fish on the mattress. God, this is a waste of time. Maybe he should drive to church, confess some sins to empty pews, and then just drive around in the BMW until the sun comes up. Or he can just drive to Alexandria and bother Declan. Remind him he has a fucking family and should act like it. </p><p>“Ronan.” Gansey stands up and walks over to sit by him on the bed. “You’re wound up, what’s wrong?” The question is soft but Monmouth is softer.</p><p>Ronan lifts up a middle finger to scratch his nose in response. Maybe he shouldn't have brought Parrish here because now he feels responsible for him. Gansey huffs and walks away, talking to Adam now. He listens to Gansey make a fuss over Adam’s face, finally noticing the bruise, while he mentally drifts away. One moment he’s in Monmouth, the next he’s miles away in Kavinsky’s driveway, tossing rocks at his window. Goading K is easy and drawing him out is even easier, especially if his father isn’t home. </p><p>Draw Kavinsky out, drag him into the night, and do… what? What exactly would they do together? Tear up the town? Drive too fast? Make out in the Evo’s back seat. Definitely the first two, maybe on the last one. Too many conflicting feelings for one human being. Fucking stupid. </p><p>He sits up, slamming back into his body. “I’m going,” he says. </p><p>Gansey looks over at him in alarm. “Where?” </p><p>“Just driving,” he replies even if he does have a destination in mind. He turns his gaze to Adam, now sitting on the chair, wondering if it’s wrong to just leave him here. Probably. But he doesn’t care right now. Gansey can babysit. “I’ll be back.”</p><p>Adam nods, like permission, and Ronan gives him a smirk before he’s leaving Monmouth. He rushes down to his car and turns around in the driveway to race back into the night. Speed limits mean nothing and the consequences for breaking them mean even less. The highway is empty and Ronan breaks records he’s set for himself until he has no choice but to slow down for the exit. Red lights are the enemy the entire way to Kavinsky’s house but at long last he’s pulling up to the curb and parking, looking up at the ridiculous mansion.</p><p>Cookie-cutter McMansions. </p><p>Absolutely ridiculous. New Money. Ugly. Ronan hates them but he picks up a rock from the yard and walks across the grass to Kavinsky’s window, chucking the pebble up at the glass. It plinks off and bounces away. He bends down to pick up another, tossing it, only to watch it patter into the darkness. </p><p>“Get up,” he snarls. There’s no way Kavinsky is asleep; he’s as big an insomniac as him. </p><p>Finally, there’s movement, and Kavinsky comes to the window, opening it and glaring down at him. “The fuck, Lynch?” he demands. </p><p>There’s a bruise on Kavinsky’s cheek like he’d been punched but he’s not surprised. He probably rough-housed with his friends earlier. “Come out,” Ronan replies. “I’m bored.” He mimes throwing another rock but doesn’t. “Time’s wasting, K. Let’s go.” </p><p>Kavinsky slams the window shut and disappears so Ronan returns to the BMW. He leans back against the passenger’s door, leather bracelets in his mouth. Finally, Kavinsky appears like a ghost, crossing the lawn, dressed in joggers, a hoodie, and a pair of god-awful shoes. Kavinsky’s sneaker collection is both admirable and atrocious. </p><p>“The fuck are you doing here?” Kavinsky demands again once he’s in earshot. </p><p>Ronan shrugs. “Beats me, I was bored, and I thought of you. I’m just as weirded out as you.” </p><p>Kavinsky looks him over, clearly confused. “What do you want to do?” </p><p>Ah, that question again, except this time he knows he can suggest something crazy. This time, he can say some off-the-wall shit, and Kavinsky wouldn’t even flinch. “You wanna go vandalize some shit with me?” </p><p>Kavinsky doesn’t even pause to think, he just nods. “Let’s go.” </p><p>Ronan grins.</p><hr/><p>The park is quiet at this time of night but that is the point when you’re looking to bring trouble. Ronan goes to the BMW’s trunk, popping it open, and reaching in to grab a can of spray paint. He grabs a can for Kavinsky and tosses it over to him as he steps out of the car. “Catch.” </p><p>Kavinsky fumbles but quickly recovers, shaking the can. “You spray paint?” he asks. </p><p>Ronan reaches in and grabs two masks, tossing one to Kavinsky as well. “Yeah,” he replies. “Safety first, kids.” </p><p>Kavinsky pulls the mask on and follows him across the grass toward a concrete wall that already contains other tags and artwork. Ronan picks a cleaner space and starts to work, working in one color. He isn’t an artist, at least not in his opinion, but it definitely feels good to cause some vandalism. He watches K work after a while, interested to see what he’ll paint. Between the two of them, Kavinsky could definitely paint something magical even in monochrome. </p><p>Kavinsky takes his time painting, turning a fairly blank piece of concrete wall into his canvas. He forms shadow and highlight with just the fucking stone as a guide until he ends up painting a sick dragon skull. Ronan sits on the ground, watching, wishing he had even an ounce of talent as Kavinsky. </p><p>“Shit, man,” he says once K stands back to check his work. “You should fucking go to art school or some shit.” </p><p>Kavinsky snorts. “Nah, I’m not smart enough for college. I can’t even pass high school.” </p><p>Ronan’s lips purse; he understands the sentiment but he also knows Kavinsky <em> is </em> smart. Talking to the guy longer than a few minutes is enough to indicate his intelligence. “What’d you get on your SATs?” he asks, knowing Kavinsky’s father probably made him take them. </p><p>“Why? You want to know how stupid I am in numbers?” Kavinsky asks, finally coming over to sit down beside him, removing his mask so he can breathe. </p><p>“Just tell me.” </p><p>Kavinsky picks at some grass. “I don’t really remember,” he replies. “I just know it wasn’t that great. Got 800 on the math but-.” </p><p>“You got 800 in <em> math </em>?” Ronan asks, completely shocked. “Shit.”</p><p>“The only subject I’m good at.” </p><p>“God, imagine if you put that kind of effort into everything, K.” He probably sounds like Declan now and mentally reprimands himself. “Shit, ignore me, I’m… I’m all over the place tonight. Gone through too many fucking emotions in one night.” </p><p>“Why’d you even ask me out here?” Kavinsky asks. Ah, there’s the million dollar question. Why <em> had </em> he asked K out here? </p><p>He could have asked anyone but he definitely ended up asking Kavinsky. No, that’s a lie - he couldn’t have just asked anyone. He knew Gansey wouldn’t understand and he’s not fully sure if Parrish would either. Adam is a wildcard, someone he isn’t completely sure about but he could have seen Parrish with him here tonight. He feels a bit like an ass for just leaving him with Gansey but he said he’d be back and he will. </p><p>But at the end of the day, if anyone was going to be interested in doing something technically illegal with him, he always knows he can count on Kavinsky. </p><p>“Simple, man, you really see Gansey out here letting me tag a wall?” Ronan asks with a snort. “You’re good at math, do the math.” </p><p>“Figures,” Kavinsky mutters, leaning back on his elbows. He laughs but it’s bitter and echoes around like a jackal’s call. “You want drugs, you call me, you want to do something shady, you call me, you want to beat someone up, you call me. That’s just who I am.” </p><p>“I don’t do drugs,” Ronan points out. </p><p>“I meant the colloquial you, the metaphysical, the generalization,” Kavinsky replies. “People all over call me for very specific reasons and this is definitely probably one of them.”</p><p>“I didn’t build your rep, man, you did that all on your own.” </p><p>Kavinsky’s eyes shine like daggers in the darkness. “I need a cigarette,” he says, patting around his jacket and coming up empty. “Fuck.” </p><p>“Those’ll kill you, you know,” Ronan says, knowing it’ll glide under Kavinsky’s skin. When K flips him off in return he laughs. “God, felt good to do that.. Just… let all that energy I had built up out. I should probably get back.” </p><p>“To?” </p><p>“I left Parrish at Gansey’s place, he’s probably ready to bounce or maybe he’s asleep, I don’t fuckin’ know. Either way, I told him I’d be back.” Ronan stretches a bit and stands up, picking up both of their discarded cans and masks. “Let’s roll, Kavinsky.”</p><p>Kavinsky stands up but doesn’t follow. He just stands there, staring at him, and Ronan has to look over his shoulder a few times to note he hasn’t moved. </p><p>“You coming?” he asks. </p><p>“What time is it?” Kavinsky returns with his own question. </p><p>Ronan frowns but he shrugs. His phone is back in the car and he doesn’t have a watch. “I don’t know, late? Probably pushing three or four in the morning by now.” He’s been out for a while but time is bullshit and he’s usually wrong. </p><p>Kavinsky finally does walk up to him, until they’re barely centimeters away from touching. The light overhead flickers dangerously, the amber light painting Kavinsky’s cheeks hollow. He looks up at him, his brown eyes as dark as cavernous pits. Circles under his eyes show how he barely sleeps and his lips are chapped. </p><p>Ronan tries not to stare at his lips but he’s definitely staring. K’s lips are pretty, plump, and pink. He takes a step away, shaking his head to clear it, and hurrying back to the BMW. By the time he’s back, he feels out of breath, dumping the supplies in the trunk. The world is hazy and he’s still somewhere swimming in K’s eyes. </p><p>“Ronan.”</p><p>He turns around and Kavinsky has found a cigarette apparently because he’s holding it to his lips. Immediately Ronan’s brain short circuits as he focuses on Kavinsky’s long fingers, the bandaid on the back of his left hand and the way blue veins stand out across the backs of each hand. Bony knuckles and Ronan knows if he touches K’s fingers, they’ll be cold. </p><p>Kavinsky is always cold. </p><p>He reaches over to take K’s cigarette and drops it on the ground, grinding his boot into it. </p><p>“Hey!” Kavinsky shouts, eyes narrowing. “Dick. That was my last one.” </p><p>Ronan follows Kavinsky’s hands, watching him shove them into his pockets. Damn. He shrugs and goes to the driver’s seat. He turns the BMW on and techno immediately blasts their senses. He should go home. He should really go pick up Parrish and then go home. </p><p>But he doesn’t. </p><p>Kavinsky climbs into the car and then his mind short circuits all over again. </p><p>He has no idea how they ended up here. </p><p>No, he knows exactly how they ended up here but he’s not sure he wants to think about it. If he thinks about too much, then it could happen again. Regardless, Kavinsky tastes a lot like cigarettes and some sweet candy he must have had before joining him on a joyride. Ronan’s hands under Kavinsky’s shirt, feeling his hot skin beneath his fingertips, dragging his nails down the mountains of his ribs, feeling each divot and peak - one, two, three, four, five, six… </p><p>They ended up in the backseat together, mouths locked together in a hungry fury. He can still remember leaning over to kiss K first, dragging him to the back. Ronan slides his hands up further and Kavinsky gasps when he touches his chest. A secret Kavinsky guards but he already knows and it doesn’t really fucking matter to him. He just wants K to feel good- he wants to feel good. </p><p>“Fuck,” Kavinsky whispers when Ronan feels him up. “I’m so fuckin’ horny.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Ronan admits, wishing he could say he was doing this drunk or high but no, he’s fucking sober. So goddamn sober. His thumb presses over Kavinsky’s chest, making his nipples harden. His own erection aches and he wants to keep going but they shouldn’t. They’ve already taken it too far. Way too fucking far. </p><p>Kavinsky sits back and takes off his sweatshirt and the shirt underneath until he’s bare chested and they’re attached at the mouth again. Ronan moans, sliding his hands back down ribs and sides until he feels K’s hipbones press into his palms. </p><p>“K…” Ronan whispers. “We shouldn’t…” </p><p>“But we are,” Kavinsky pants. “Don’t give up on me now, Lynch, not when I’m riled up.” </p><p>“I gotta get back to Parrish,” Ronan argues, still hazy and aroused. His dick is trying to think for his brain and if he listens to it, he’s going to end up doing something he regrets. Besides, he doesn’t have condoms in the damn car. “We have to stop.” </p><p>Kavinsky growls in frustration, dropping his forehead to Ronan’s shoulder. “Ass.” </p><p>“I’ll… make it up to you,” he says, even if he’s not sure how he would do that or if he even means it. </p><p>“You owe me,” Kavinsky says firmly. “For this and my fucking car.” </p><p>Ronan winces a little because he supposes he does owe Kavinsky for his car. He thinks about denying it again but there’s no reason to deny it now that Kavinsky si straddling him fucking shirtless. “I was in a mood.”</p><p>“Yeah, a shit one,” Kavinsky snaps. </p><p>“I said I” ll make it up to you, alright? Get off my ass.” Ronan pushes K back into the seat so he can shift out of the back and into the front again, trying to shove the horny Ronan <em> away </em>. “I’ll take you home.” </p><p>“Well, since I’m not about to fucking <em> walk </em>,” Kavinsky snaps. </p><p>Ronan rolls his eyes but he put Kavinsky in this mood, so he supposes he deserves it a little. He doesn’t say anything on the way to K’s house, speeding while Kavinsky sulks in the back seat. Once they reach the ugly mansion, he parks out by the curb and glances K in the rearview. He’s dressed again. </p><p>“We aren't together, man, you don’t get to be all pissy because I wanted to stop. Even if we <em> were </em> together, you don’t get to be pissy about it,” Ronan points out. “I wouldn’t be mad at you.” </p><p>“I’m not mad about that,” Kavinsky replies. “I’m upset because I already know you aren’t going to 'make it up to me’. I’m not fucking stupid. You’ll go back to being an asshole at school and I’ll go back to just taking it.”</p><p>Ronan rolls his eyes at K’s dramatics. “You gonna get out now or do you need me to hold your hand baby?” </p><p>“Not your baby.” </p><p>Ronan laughs. “I know, I was insulting you. See you on the streets.”</p><p>Kavinsky’s face is red and flustered as he climbs out from the back seat, slamming the passenger side door. Ronan rolls his eyes but he does wait until Kavinsky is inside before driving away. His mind is still buzzing, now with uncertainty and arousal meshed into one. He never should have given into his primal desires to kiss Kavinsky but it had seemed so necessary at the time. </p><p>Well, K is right about one thing- he definitely doesn’t have the intention to do so again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter CW: abuse, sexual abuse scenes</p><p>this has minor editing, so sue me, i just needed to post lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> I’ll make it up to you.  </em>
</p><p>Kavinsky knew it had been bullshit as soon as Ronan had said it; they came back to school and Ronan had returned to ignoring him while Kavinsky returned to just taking whatever treatment Ronan wanted to give him. A week flies by without much of a fuss between them, the longest they’ve gone without antagonizing one another but with the weekend approaching, Kavinsky decides to take a leap. </p><p>As school draws to a close on Friday, Kavinsky approaches Ronan at his locker much to the other boy’s chagrin. “Don’t look at me like that, Lynch. You act like talking to me is a fucking sin.”</p><p>“Probably is,” Ronan spits back. “What do you want?”</p><p><em> Let’s make out again </em>, is what he wants to say but doesn’t. Ronan would probably rather die than admit to making out. “Got a party going on tomorrow, want you there.”</p><p>Ronan rolls his eyes. “Life isn’t just about partying and drugs, man. I have a life outside of that shit. You should try it sometime.”</p><p>Kavinsky laughs but he doesn’t really find it funny. However, masking is one of his best abilities. Sometimes, he wishes he had a life outside of partying, drugs,  sex and driving fast. He wishes his friends liked him for more than just the superficial surface shit he provides but he’s not sure they do. If he canceled a party last minute, they’d all be angry, especially if he suggested they do something else instead. </p><p>“Mine is,” he replies. </p><p>“Whatever, I’m busy this weekend. I’m hanging out with Adam.”</p><p>Parrish. </p><p>They’ve become conjoined at the hip and Kavinsky can’t help but feel jealousy rise in the back of his throat like bile. He would gladly cancel any plans he had to spend a weekend with Ronan. Maybe it’s stupid and obsessive but he would take the abuse just to have a weekend together. </p><p>“Bring him, too,” Kavinsky says in a desperate plea to have Ronan come. “Let him cut loose, he looks like he has a stick up his ass most days.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Ronan says, slamming his locker door. “You don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m not going to let you fucking slander him.”</p><p>“Touchy, touchy. He your new boyfriend?” Kavinsky teases. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Pity, you two would make a cute couple. The kind of couple where I want to gag by the end of the movie.” Maybe he shouldn’t suggest Ronan become Parrish’s boyfriend because it sounds like suicide but he can’t help the words from falling out. </p><p>“It’s really not your fucking business.” Ronan gives Kavinsky a once-over. “You were nice all week, you just saving it all up for right now?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same thing.”</p><p>Ronan rolls his eyes. “I’m not coming to your stupid ass party, Kavinsky, so get off my dick.”</p><p>Kavinsky pouts but doesn’t push the matter. He’s made small strides with Ronan and if he keeps pushing he could break the bridge before it’s done being built. “Fine, you’re missing out though. Big party, lots of lights, live DJ. I’ll make a set just for you, Lynch.”</p><p>Ronan had started to walk away but he pauses at the mention of live music. “I’ll think about it.”</p><p>Kavinsky grins. “Sick. Bring your boyfriend and your girlfriend, too. I’m sure Dicky will want to tag along with you to keep you on the up and up.”</p><p>Ronan laughs. “Gansey doesn’t do parties.”</p><p>Kaminsky would give his left kidney to see Gansey at one of his parties. He lets Ronan walk away then, instead spinning in the hallway before heading outside. Speaking of the golden boy, he spots Gansey walking toward his ugly ass Camaro. The distance closes between them, and when Gansey opens the driver’s door, Kavinsky reaches just in time to lean over and push it shut. </p><p>“What the- ugh.” Gansey looks unhappy to see him but Kavinsky isn’t surprised. He hates how Gansey smells good and looks tanned and fit. There’s a bet floating around the school to see who can guess the size of Gansey’s dick and Kavinsky’s pretty sure he’s at least eight inches soft. “What do you want, Joseph?”</p><p>Kavinsky smirks even if he hates being called by his first name. “You want to come to a party this weekend, Dick?”</p><p>“Are you going to be there?”</p><p>“It’s my party.”</p><p>“Then no.”</p><p>Kavinsky pouts for a second time. “Ronan’ll be there, don’t you want to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble?”</p><p>Gansey huffs. “He has plans with Adam, I doubt he’ll be coming to your party, Joseph.”</p><p>“He said maybe, I’d say the calculated risk is worth it.” Kavinsky can’t help but grin because he knows he has Gansey’s number now. Just the possibility of Ronan showing up and drinking too much is enough for Gansey’s mouth to twitch. Hook, line, and sinker. </p><p>“What time,” Gansey says even if he’s clearly not happy about the idea. </p><p>“Ten,” Kavinsky replies. “Warehouse near the docks, can’t miss it.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>“See you there, Dick,” he purrs before leaving Gansey alone with his car. He moves across the lot to the Mitsubishi, eyes scanning for Ronan. He spots him easily enough, standing over the crowd by the bike rack. He’s talking to Parrish and Kavinsky is surprised to see him laugh. The kind of laugh where Ronan shows his teeth and throws his head back. The kind of laugh Kavinsky used to be able to elicit from Ronan, too. </p><p>Jealousy eats through his armor, chipping it away bit by bit. </p><p>“Hey,” comes Skov’s voice, drawing him back to the present. “You want to give me a ride? My car’s at the shop and Swan’s doing basketball shit with his friends and I don’t want to wait around.”</p><p>Kavinsky nods, still glaring toward Parrish and Lynch before finally tearing his eyes away. Skov slides into the passenger’s seat and Kavinsky joins him. He turns the car on, immediately blasted by trap music but Skov turns it down so low he can barely tell it’s still on. </p><p>“The fuck,” Kavinsky snaps. </p><p>“You still hung up on Lynch?” Skov asks. “You really need to let him go, man. He’s not into you and you deserve better anyway. Dating your tormentor is like having Stockholm syndrome. We can find you a better guy.”</p><p>Kavinsky rolls his eyes. “Sure. I’m sure there are plenty of gay boys lining up to date me.”</p><p>“There would be if you quit being such a fucking dick about being gay,” Skov snaps in return. “If you quit calling people fags, I bet we could find you a boyfriend.”</p><p>“My father would rather have a dead son than a gay son,” Kavinsky replies, voice flat. “I’m not about to be dating anybody.”</p><p>“We could at least get you an FWB.” Skov pulls out his vape pen and starts to set it up. “You want a hit? Trying this instead of cigarettes. Tastes way better.”</p><p>Kavinsky looks at the complicated rig and soon the car is filled with a sickly sweet scent. He rolls the window down a little to free them of the smell as the parking lot starts to empty. He holds out his hand and Skov shows him how to work the thing so he can take a hit; it definitely tastes better than a cigarette and the smell is better, too. </p><p>“Strawberry?” he asks after he blows the smoke free. </p><p>Skov laughs. “And cream. It’s good, yeah? I can get you one if you want.”</p><p>Kavinsky shrugs and hands the rig back over. He’d never considered vaping before but it feels like something he would do. “Whatever, man.” He’s not sure he cares as long as he can have a nicotine fix either way. “Seems involved.”</p><p>“Trust me, it’s just as good. And you can put THC in these fuckers, so in the end, it’s <em> way </em> better.” Skov grins slowly and waggles his brows at Kavinsky invitingly.  “You wanna make out at my house?”</p><p>The question comes suddenly just as he’s about to finally start driving away. He looks at Skov and frowns. “You want to make out.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re fun to make out with. I’ll eat your pussy again, too, if you want.” Skov slides his tongue out like an invitation. </p><p>The promise of Skov between his thighs again makes him a little weak in the knees. He likes the idea of getting off on Skov’s bed, sliding his fingers through Skov’s hair, and holding him there while he cums but his father is expecting him home. “I can’t,” he says, taking off out of the parking lot. “Dad’ll be home and expect me there.”</p><p>Skov’s face twists. “Ugh… Well, you should stay over tomorrow after the party.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>The conversation ends there and Kavinsky turns the volume of the music up. They drive back to Skov’s house and then Kavinsky returns to his own. Black cars in the driveway signal his father is home and he hates the idea of going inside. He doesn’t want to go in and see his father, he just wants to go upstairs and hide. He spends as much time as he can in the car before he has no choice but to go in. </p><p>The house is as quiet as a funeral when he steps in through the front door. There are men in black suits standing outside of his father’s office so maybe his father is busy conducting business. He shuts the front door quietly and slowly skirts off toward the stairs but then his father’s voice comes through the house like a cold harbinger. </p><p>“<em> Yosef </em>.”</p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Kavinsky swallows his fear and slowly approaches the men flanking the office door but they don’t bother him. He stands in the doorway, seeing his father and uncle together. “<em> Father, Uncle </em>” he greets quietly, slowly stepping into the large office. </p><p><em> “Come here, Yosef </em>,” his uncle greets, arms open. Between the two, his uncle has always been more affectionate but also more openly inappropriate. </p><p>He approaches with gritted teeth until his uncle has his arms around him and the grip is like a vice. He’s lifted up with a soft chuckle and set back down before his uncle sits on a chair and pulls him directly onto his lap. He shudders when his uncle rubs his back, pets his hair, his fingers shifting to the back of his neck, down his spine, and curling around his hip. </p><p>He looks at his father and can feel his eyes pleading with the man to make it stop. He knows his father doesn’t care but he wants to scream; he doesn’t want this, he wants to go upstairs and lock the door. </p><p>“<em> Growing up so fast, </em> ” his uncle purrs while his hand slides down into his pants and cups over his underwear without preamble. “ <em> Almost a grown woman now </em>.” </p><p>Nausea makes his stomach twist. </p><p><em> “A grown man </em>,” Kosta corrects his brother sternly. The one thing his father had never held an issue with was when he’d told his father he’s really a man. His father had always wanted a son and took no issue with him transitioning. </p><p>This kindness did not carry over when he told his father he also liked boys. </p><p>His uncle hums and his fingers shove around his underwear and over his cunt, rubbing his clit and feeling over his folds. “<em> Women have cunts and last I checked this is what he’s got </em>,” comes the argument. </p><p>Kavinsky feels his body go rigid. He doesn’t want this, he just wants to go upstairs. Tears make his eyes burn and he tries not to start crying because his father will be angry if he shows any type of weakness. The worst is when the contact still causes pleasure. He tries not to moan or whimper, his legs shaking as his uncle works him fast. </p><p>“<em> Stop </em> ,” he begs softly. “ <em> Please, stop. Stop. Stop. </em>”</p><p>Kosta stands up and walks over to them, pulling him free from his uncle’s lap, letting him sit in a chair which is possibly the kindest thing his father has ever done for him. A sob racks out of his chest and he covers his face in shame. </p><p>“<em> Enough </em> ,” Kosta says coldly. “ <em> He doesn’t belong to you. He is my son and I say what he will be called in this house. I say what happens to him. </em>”</p><p>He’s surprised to hear his father defend him but Kosta has always been at odds with his younger brother. Perhaps, Kosta doesn’t like when his brother touches his things. </p><p>He’s going to be sick. </p><p>His uncle laughs as if he finds this entire situation amusing. “<em> Won’t even let me wet my cock on him anymore, hm? Been a while since I had a cunt to fuck into. My wife guards hers like a bear trap </em>.”</p><p>Yes, he’s going to be fucking sick. He leans forward to grab his father’s trash can and vomit inside. He hasn’t had a lot to eat but he feels sick and weak. If they both wanted to take turns on him, he wouldn’t have the physical power to fight back. </p><p>“<em> Leave, Yosef </em>,” Kosta says coolly. </p><p>Permission. </p><p>Kavinsky stands up, body shaking, and he manages to stumble out of the office. He doesn’t remember making it upstairs but he somehow manages to make it up to his bedroom and collapse on the other side of the door. Tears streak down his face and he shakily pulls out his phone to text for help. He needs somewhere to go and stay for a while but he doesn’t want to deal with Skov hitting on him right now and Swan is with his friends playing basketball. Proko is an option but he’s probably with Jiang and Kavinsky doesn’t want to interrupt whatever they have going on. </p><p>Maybe he should just leave and drive somewhere. Anywhere. </p><p>He also doesn’t want to be alone. He could just pick Skov up but then he still has to deal with Skov’s attaction to him.. He doesn’t want to be touched right now or looked at like a sexual object. </p><p>He runs his fingers through his hair in distress. </p><p>
  <em> → you with parrish? </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t know why he texts Ronan but his fingers are going before his brain can catch up. He’s probably fucking busy. </p><p>
  <em> ← i’m with gansey </em>
</p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Gansey complicates everything. </p><p>He closes his eyes and tries to take a few deep breaths but his hands are shaking so badly now. He can’t drive like this. He can barely hold his phone.</p><p> A knock on the door startles him so badly he drops the phone and freezes, breathing too fast, and wanting to just melt into the floorboards. Some days, he just wishes his father would shoot him and end his fucking life. No more panic attacks if he’s dead. </p><p>“<em> Yosef, open the door </em>.”</p><p>Kosta. </p><p>For once, Kavinsky is glad his father is on the other side and not his uncle. He slowly pulls the door open, hoping he doesn’t look as bad as he feels. “<em> I’m sorry </em>,” he says automatically like a default reply. He’s sorry for showing weakness, he’s sorry for being a bad son, he’s sorry for existing. </p><p>“<em> Your uncle has left. He wanted me to send you to Sofia for the summer. </em>”</p><p>Bulgaria. A whole summer with his uncle; his skin crawls at the thought. “<em> No! </em> ” The shout happens before he can stop it from flying out of his mouth even if he knows it is disrespectful. “ <em> Please, no, Sir </em>.”</p><p>“<em> I told him no. Who knows what he will have you do and you are </em> my <em> son. I will not let my younger brother tell me how to run my family. </em> ” Kosta looks angry but not at him for once which is a nice reprieve. “ <em> This summer, though, Yosef, you will either prepare for university or you will prepare to join the family business. It is your choice but I will only pay for university if you do well. Do you understand? </em>”</p><p>The idea of going to college had always been so far out of reach, Kavinsky can’t imagine ever escaping Henrietta but his father is practically handing him a golden ticket out of here. If he’s able to go to college across the country, he can be away from his parents, away from his uncle. He could disappear and never return. </p><p>For once, Kavinsky sees a light at the end of an extremely dark tunnel. “<em> I will work hard </em>,”he says and for once means every word. He wants to escape his family more than he wants anything else in this world. </p><p><em> “Good. I expect you to do me proud…” </em> Kosta runs his hand gently over his hair, almost loving, but Kavinsky can see the obsession in his father’s eyes. There is no fatherly love between them - his father loves him like a rich man loves his prized dog. For breeding only. </p><p>“<em> Yes, Sir </em>,” he parrots automatically like a bad habit. </p><p>“<em> You keep up your grades, Yosef, and I will pay for you to go to whichever university you please. Understand? </em>”</p><p>God, yes, for once he does understand clearly. “<em> Yes, Sir. I will get my grades up </em>.”</p><p>Kosta nods. “<em> Good. Your mother is out of town and I do not want to leave you home alone, so I will stay the night </em>.”</p><p><em> Stay the night </em> - meaning his father will want to sleep together. He’ll have to just take it and accept his fate but whatever his father has for him is better than his uncle. If he can just put up with his father touching and raping him for a little while longer, he can finally escape this bullshit. When he turns eighteen in April and manages to graduate in May, he can finally fucking escape. </p><p>“<em> Yes, Sir </em>,” he mutters, eyes down. </p><p>“<em> I’ve been quite lonely in Jersey, Yosef, I do miss your talents </em>.”</p><p>His stomach twists into a knot. His <em> talents </em> meaning the way he’s been taught to take cock like a fucking porn star. He only nods and Kosta is about to say something else when his phone rings. Kavinsky’s heart climbs into his throat; if work is calling his father away, he’ll be free tonight. No mother, no father, just blissfully empty house. </p><p>Kosta answers the phone with the same anger a man about to finally fuck his mistress would. “<em> What?! </em> ” There’s a pause where his father listens and then curses in Bulgarian several times. “ <em> I will be there but you are interrupting my evening with my son and I do not like to be interrupted.” </em></p><p>The phone call ends and Kosta puts his phone in his pocket. His dark eyes flick to Kavinsky’s bed. “<em> Disrobe. I have an hour to kill </em>.”</p><p>His heart sinks. </p>
<hr/><p>No matter how hot the shower water scorches his skin, Kavinsky is sure he will never truly feel clean. He sits on the bottom, staring at the water disappearing down the drain. His skin is flushed red but he lets it burn even when it starts to hurt. This pain is better than the searing pain in his backside and between his thighs. </p><p><em> “Take a shower,” </em> his father had commanded when he’d finished. Like a good soldier, he’d marched into the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as he could before sliding under the stream. He’d scrubbed his skin and cleaned himself out roughly, trying to rid his body of the evidence. </p><p>The panic he’d felt earlier comes in waves. One moment he feels nothing at all, floating away from the shower, and the next he feels everything all at once and breaks down into silent sobs. The shower slowly goes from too hot, to lukewarm, to ice cold which soothes the burn of his skin until he starts to shiver with the change in temperature. </p><p>When his teeth begin to chatter, Kavinsky turns the shower off and slowly climbs out to sit wrapped up in a towel. Once more, he’s feeling nothing whatsoever, he can barely feel himself breathe. How long he sits there, feeling nothing, Kavinsky isn’t sure but by the time he comes back to himself, his body is dry and his hair is barely damp. Forcing his legs to work, he leaves the bathroom to return to his bedroom and sit on the bed. </p><p>His eyes shift over to the black brick of his phone. </p><p>Had Ronan ever texted him again? Had Skov? Had anyone checked on him?</p><p>Shaking hands pick up the phone and he unlocks it, going to his texts but the last thing he’d received had been Ronan’s last text explaining he was with Gansey. There was no reason to reply, Gansey would rather die than have him around. Skov hadn’t texted him and the group chat is silent but he supposes Skov is probably sucking Swan off or tongue deep in his mouth somewhere. Jiang and Proko are probably together, curled up watching movies. </p><p>His friends. </p><p>Friends who he isn’t sure really care about him. </p><p>He stares at the texts and opens up Ronan’s conversation, typing out slowly because his fingers are still shaking. </p><p>
  <em> → my dad rapes me lol  </em>
</p><p>Delete. </p><p>
  <em> → my uncle and dad molest me  </em>
</p><p>Delete. </p><p>He puts the phone away. No one will believe him. No one has ever been concerned for him, no adults, no peers. He’s just a privileged rich boy rotten to the core. He dug his own grave and now he has to lie in it. </p><p>If he can just survive until graduation… </p><p>But first, he has to actually pull up his grades now which won’t be easy but he’s willing to try. His math and art marks are perfect but science, English, and everything else is a mess. He could care less about PE and he can probably bullshit his way through science since it’s close to math but English has always been a struggle. Probably because it’s not his first language and he’s never held any interest in reading. </p><p>Maybe Mr. Grey would provide him some extra credit. </p><p>He opens up an email to send to the older man, hoping he’s in a forgiving mood. </p><p>
  <em> Hey Mr. G-Man </em>
</p><p>No, that just sounds too casual. Delete. </p><p>
  <em> Mr. Grey,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This is Joseph Kavinsky, your favorite student, I’m writing because I was hoping you could maybe give me some extra credit work? I really want to try to get my grades up before the end of the year. Help me out? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kavinsky </em>
</p><p>Maybe it’s still too casual but he sends it anyway and hopes it works out in his favor. The house is eerily quiet but his father left a while ago and his mother apparently is out, whatever the hell that means. He checks his bank account but even though he has a trust fund with enough money in there to live off of and disappear, his personal checking account is basically empty. He’d already blown whatever allowance his father had given him a while ago because he doesn’t have a regular influx of cash. </p><p>People assume because his daddy is rich it makes him just as bad but he’s never had a lot of money. The only money he has is locked away in a fucking trust fund he can’t touch until he turns eighteen. </p><p>Soon. </p><p>If he can survive until graduation, he can skip across the country with his father’s blessing and disappear for good. Hell, he’ll fake his own death if he has to just to escape his father. </p><p>
  <em> bzz </em>
</p><p>A returned email. Kavinsky flings it open, taking it all in with hope in his eyes. </p><p>
  <em> Mr. Kavinsky,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I admit I am surprised to be hearing from you and in such a respectable tone. Your grade in my class is dismal at best and I am not sure any extra credit work will do you any good I am afraid. Perhaps this is an in-person conversation. Are you able to come to school early on Monday? We can go over an academic action plan together before classes start.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I look forward to hearing from you.  </em>
</p><p><em> With care, </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Mr. Grey </em></p><p>Well, could have been worse but he’ll take it. Early on Monday. He can do that because his car is fixed but his mind swirls with the possibilities. His grade is poor and Mr. Grey isn’t sure extra credit will be enough. What could the old man be wanting from him to help pull his grades up?</p><p>His mind quickly settles on the answer and his shoulders slump. </p><p>Of course. </p><p>What every other man has ever wanted from him. He’ll do it if he has to but he never really saw Mr. Grey as a perv. Of course, he could be wrong. </p><p>“Just have to make it until May,” he whispers like a promise.</p><p> Then, he’ll finally be free. </p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t expect Gansey to show up. </p><p>Then he does. </p><p>Kavinsky’s in the middle of a transaction when someone tells him the golden boy’s been spotted. He can’t help but grin like the Chesire cat and walk away before he takes the cash for the drugs he sold. He doesn’t fucking care about the money anyway. </p><p>The warehouse is full of flashing lights and loud music, bodies grinding together, people from all across the county showing up. Kavinsky winds his way through the crowd until he spots Gansey, standing out like a sore thumb with his perfect hair and stupid varsity jacket. </p><p>“Dicky, baby, you made it,” he says over the music, linking arms so they can walk and talk. </p><p>Gansey stiffens but he does allow Kavinsky to pull him away from the crowd and back out to the mouth of the warehouse where it’s more muffled. “I’m looking for Ronan.” </p><p>Kavinsky pouts. “He didn’t show. What a loser. But you did.” </p><p>A vein at Gansey’s temple twitches and his jaw sets. “If Ronan isn’t here, I’m leaving-.” </p><p>“Hey, hey, now, don’t go.” He smiles, pleading just a little. “Stay. Take a substance-.” </p><p>“I don’t do drugs.” </p><p>Kavinsky can’t help but run his hands up to Gansey’s bicep. “You’re telling me this is all homegrown? Wow, making me tingle, daddy.” </p><p>Gansey does wrench away then, giving him an angry look. “I came all this way for nothing. I knew he wouldn’t respond to my messages.” </p><p>Ah, yes, Lynch loves to leave people on read. “He doesn’t answer you either? Naught dog, Dick. You should teach him better manners.” </p><p>“Goodbye, Joseph.” Gansey turns and starts toward the Camaro but Kavinsky follows like a lost puppy. “What?” </p><p>“You should really stay,” Kavinsky says. “Cut loose a little.” He pulls out a small pill and holds it out in offering. “It’ll make you feel really good.” </p><p>“I don’t <em> do </em> drugs, Joseph,” Gansey says sternly. </p><p>“Lynch will never believe you if you tell him,” he muses in return. “It’s not much, just will help you relax a little.” </p><p>“I don’t feel like being roofied,” Gansey snaps. </p><p>Kavinsky puts the pill in his pocket. “Okay, okay, saying not to drugs. Too bad I didn’t learn any better during those meetings in elementary school. I cave to peer pressure.” He laughs at himself, looking Gansey over with a hunger in his eyes. “You got a girlfriend, Dick?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Boyfriend?” </p><p>“<em> No </em>.” </p><p>“You ever had sex?” He’s curious to know if the rumors are true and Gansey is a virgin but there’s a part of him that hopes he’s not. Just to show Gansey has a small bad side. </p><p>“How is that your business?” Gansey retorts but he hasn’t climbed into his car to leave. In fact, he’s leaning back against the door like they’re just having a casual conversation. </p><p>“Just a question, Dicky.” </p><p>“If you quit calling me <em> Dicky </em>, maybe I'll answer one.” </p><p>“Yes, Sir.” </p><p>Gansey rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve had sex. Once.” </p><p>The answer makes him grin as wide as an Alice in Wonderland character. “With who?” </p><p>“A girl I met during some rich child summer camp. It wasn’t that great but I did it. Do <em> not </em> tell Ronan, he’ll have a field day.” Gansey sighs, looking Kavinsky over with a tired expression; like he hasn’t slept in days and maybe he hasn’t. </p><p>“You <em> sure </em> you don’t want a pick me up? I can get you something that’ll wake you up and make you <em> fly </em> or I can get you something that’ll make you horny or I can get you something that’ll knock you out for a few days. You pick.” Kavinsky holds out his arms. “We’re in Wonderland, baby, you dream it, I can probably find it for you.” </p><p>There’s a long pause and after the silence drags on for a while, Kavinsky grows bored and restless. He wants to return to the party and he figures Dick is going to deny him but then Gansey pushes off from the Camaro and closes the distance between them. He raises an eyebrow. </p><p>“I just want to not be myself for a while,” Gansey admits softly. </p><p>Kavinsky grins. “I can help you with that.” </p>
<hr/><p>Gansey on drugs is not something he ever thought he’d see in his lifetime but Gansey on drugs is not too different from regular Gansey, except he has less filter. They hang out together at the party like they’re best friends, both of them a bit high and Gansey standing with less of a stick up his ass. His body relaxes, he goes with the flow and lets a little loose. </p><p>It’s nice to see. </p><p>They party together until the party starts to wind down and the night is late. By the end, they’re both not flying as high but they’re not crashed yet either. He walks Gansey back to his car and Kavinsky looks at the Mitsubishi parked not too far away. </p><p>“So, that’s drugs,” Gansey says once they return to the bright orange car. </p><p>“Not so bad, right?” Kavinsky asks. “I gave you the really good shit, didn’t even charge you. I could have <em> robbed </em> you and you wouldn’t have known. But I’m a nice guy, deep down.” </p><p>Gansey snorts and shakes his head. “It was nice,” he admits. “God, I can’t believe you fucking got me to take drugs. <em> Shit </em>.” </p><p>Ah, the existential crisis time. Kavinsky rolls his eyes. “Don't be dramatic, Dick.” </p><p>“What if I have to fucking piss in a cup soon and I just <em> let </em> you talk me into this!” Gansey glares at him and then he grabs Kavinsky’s arms and slams him up against the side of the Camaro. The motion makes the world tilt and he’s shocked by how close they are. Gansey looks just as shocked and there’s a moment they’re just staring at one another. </p><p>Gansey’s not as tall as Ronan so he doesn’t have to look up and up and <em> up </em> like he usually does. Gansey’s also fitter than Ronan; he’s strong and well built from all of that swimming. He’s a gay man’s wet dream. </p><p>“You’re an asshole, Kavinsky,” Gansey says but there's less bite in his voice but there’s still some in his grip. </p><p>“Yeah, and you’re a pretentious prick, we both have our stereotypes-.” He cuts off when their mouths collide together at such a rough and fast pace, Kavinsky almost collapses. In fact, he would have if Gansey hadn’t been gripping his upper arms tightly. </p><p>He has no idea what’s brought on the kiss but maybe they’ve reached the point of hating each other so much, it’s time for a hatefuck. Kavinsky kisses back because Gansey’s hot and he’s definitely had a few wanking sessions thinking about the guy between his legs. They climb into the back of the Camaro and Gansey is rough when he takes their clothes off. </p><p>First his jacket, then Kavinsky’s shirt, then his own shirt, and then he’s pulling Kavinsky’s joggers and underwear down. Then, he pauses. There’s always a pause when the guy doesn’t know. Kavinsky stares up at Gansey, eyes black from arousal, knowing he’s fully on display and there’s no time to explain or take it back. He can’t magically grow a dick and he has to wait to see what Gansey does. </p><p>“You…” Gansey frowns, trying to connect the dots. </p><p>“I’m the T in the LGBTQ, sweetheart, now hurry up before I change my mind,” Kavinsky snaps. </p><p>It’s enough. Gansey unzips and pulls his dick free, leaning down to kiss him once but Kavinsky bites Gansey’s lip, and Gansey snarls. He flips him over so easily Kavinsky’s head spins. He’s pressed roughly into the backseat, face smashed against old leather. </p><p>Kink activated. </p><p>He’s wetter than a storm and Gansey is inside. He didn’t have a chance to see how fucking big Gansey’s dick is but from the feel of it, he’s going to feel this for a few days. He doesn’t think to tell the bastard to wear a condom and maybe Gansey is too horny to think about putting one on. They fuck in the backseat, Gansey’s hands rough, clearly using him for his own glut and pleasure. </p><p>Kavinsky moans, unsure he can come like this but this isn’t about him. Gansey holds him down, fucking him hard and fast, barely making a sound until he pulls out at the last moment. He groans in frustration but Kavinsky can feel Gansey finish across the back of his thighs instead. Well, at least he had the forethought to pull out. </p><p>“Fuck!” Gansey gasps. </p><p>Kavinsky shudders when they’re done. He didn’t come and he’s still definitely aroused but it’s not enough. He doubts Gansey will offer to finish him off; he’s not Gansey’s boyfriend. “Jesus Christ, where do you hide that monster?” he chokes out. “Especially in your little ass speedo.” </p><p>Gansey takes a moment to breathe and then he chuckles a bit. “I’ll never tell.” </p><p>Kavinsky isn’t sure if he’s referring to them having sex, his secret vagina, or what he does with his monster cock when he’s at swim meets. </p><p>“You should go,” Gansey whispers. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, walk of shame time.” Kavinsky does his best to sit up, grabbing his clothes to pull back on. They redress in silence and then Kavinsky stumbles out of Gansey’s car in silence. He’s walking away in the same silence but then Gansey calls his name. He pauses.</p><p>“You won’t say anything about this, right?” Gansey asks. “To anyone?” </p><p>Right. Can’t talk about them having sex because he’ll ruin golden boy’s image. “Don’t worry, Dick, I’m very good with secrets.” </p><p>Gansey nods. “So, we didn’t meet?” </p><p>“No, we didn’t.” He turns and continues back to the Mitsubishi.</p>
<hr/><p>6:30 a.m. on a Monday.</p><p>A fucking joke. </p><p>Kavinsky glares at the school, parking lot fairly empty save for a few faculty cars. His fingers wrap around some Starbucks drink Skov always orders and he’s tried a few times. It’s sickly sweet and not really what he wants but he knows it will wake him up. He storms toward the school, coming through the front door, and looking at all of the empty hallways. </p><p>He’s never been to school this early on purpose. </p><p>He’s never been to school this early period.</p><p>It’s so quiet he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Shuddering, Kavinsky walks down the hallway toward Mr. Grey’s classroom. The door is shut but the light is on so he knocks on the door. Scraping across the linoleum floor followed by footsteps lead to Mr. Grey answering the door, smiling a bit when they make eye contact. </p><p>“Good morning, Joseph. I’m glad you showed up.” Mr. Grey steps aside and Kavinsky steps into the empty classroom. God, being a teacher seems absolutely horrendous. </p><p>Mr. Grey returns to his desk after shutting the door, sitting down at his desk. Kavinsky pauses, throwing his bag onto a desk before walking over. He wasn’t exactly fully ready for this morning but he slowly goes down to his knees anyway. Mr. Grey is talking but he hadn’t been listening, too tired to comprehend words, and then he hears the man stop talking and Kavinsky looks up at him from his position on the floor. </p><p>“Joseph… what- what are you doing?” Mr. Grey asks, his face losing all color to the point where he emulates his name. </p><p>“Earning my extra credit,” he replies, voice a bit flat. After the weekend he’s had, he has no desire to suck an older man off but he will for the grade. </p><p>“No- no, no, no. Please, um, sit in a chair. Please. This isn’t- who…. Joseph.” Mr. Grey cuts off and gestures for Kavinsky to sit at the chair beside his desk which he slowly does if only for the man to stop looking so alarmed. “Joseph is someone else here at this school asking you to... To perform sexual favors in exchange for your grades? Because if they are, we need to report that, that isn’t right. You’re still a child and I am very sorry if an adult is taking advantage of you.” </p><p>Kavinsky snorts. </p><p>No, not a teacher but he already knows no one gives a fuck about him. What’s the point of reaching out? </p><p>“No,” he replies which is the truth. </p><p>“No?” Mr. Grey’s brows pull together and his lips form a thin line as he runs his slate eyes over Kavinsky’s face. “I will help you, Joseph, if someone is hurting you. This is a safe room.”</p><p>He laughs a bit. “Yeah, no, man, I already know the world doesn’t give a fuck about me. No one in this school has ever given a fuck about me before. The bad kid shows up with bruises and black eyes… No one bats an eye.” He shrugs a bit. “It doesn’t matter what’s happening to me.” </p><p>Mr. Grey’s face falls, eyes seeming to sink into his skull, and his brows knitting further to create more wrinkles across his forehead. “Oh, Joseph…” He leans forward, trying to make his body smaller as if he’s a threat. “<em> I </em> care.” </p><p>Kavinsky snorts and stands up, lacing his fingers behind his head. “No,” he says in denial. No one has cared about him before; he’s certain all of his teachers would line up and cheer if the news came his father finally shot him dead. There would be parties, celebrations, and excitement. No teacher has ever asked him why he comes to school with bruises than he had the day prior. No one has ever asked him why he doesn’t participate in class when they discuss serious topics; topics that leave him feeling shaky and unsteady. </p><p>Even his friends only know his father is just a hardass, only Skov now knows part of the secret he’s carried for most of his life. Only a half secret, one where the other half is too terrible to bring to light. </p><p>“I want to help you,” Mr. Grey says firmly. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on… Is someone touching you, hurting you?” </p><p>“No,” he growls, glaring down at his shoes now. “I’m just a slut, man! Haven’t you read the bathroom walls?!” His voice wavers a bit with unbridled emotion trying to bubble over but he shoves it back down; even with help staring him back in the face, he feels the gut reaction to run away. <em> Don’t tell anyone, it’s our secret </em> his father would whisper. </p><p>Mr. Grey shakes his head and slowly stands, leaning forward on his desk, hands braced. “Joseph, let me help you. We can report it properly. Whatever is happening to you can stop.” </p><p>Bitter laughter bubbles out of him then; right, report his father to the cops who are in his pocket. Sure. He laughs and laughs, shaking his head. “Man, you must live under a fucking <em> rock </em> ,” he says. “Don’t you know, man, my daddy <em> owns </em> the cops! You can report whoever you want and slap my name down on the report and it’ll be thrown out. Forget it, okay? I’m fine. I’m just the school’s worst nightmare, resident asshole, drug addict, loser kid who isn’t going anywhere but jail or the cemetery after graduation. You don’t have to worry about me.” </p><p>The silence, once he finishes, is almost crushing as Mr. Grey studies him closely. His eyes scan over his entire body but not in the same perverted way his father would do. No, Mr. Grey looks downright concerned. He’s never seen someone look as concerned for him before. “Is your father hurting you, Joseph?” he whispers. “Is it your father hurting you?” </p><p>He opens his mouth because he wants to just <em> say </em> it; scream <em> yes </em> as loud as he can, dance around the room laughing, crying, having a complete mental breakdown but no sound comes out. He’s just left staring at Mr. Grey, mouth open, trying to make his words work. How can he talk about something he’s never said out loud? He can barely fully admit it to himself. He knows his father is a dangerous pedophile who needs a bullet through his eyes but he has no idea how to explain that he’s almost eighteen and still unable to fight back. </p><p>Will the police laugh him out of their precinct when he says he’s never fought back? Every time his father’s hands glide over his body and press inside, taking pieces away from him each time, his body freezes while his mind races. He tries to rationalize the interaction sometimes - his father loves him so much, he’s just trying to show him! Sometimes, he orgasms. His father was his first orgasm. His stomach twists with nausea at the realization. </p><p>“Joseph?” </p><p>“I don’t know what you want me to say, man,” Kavinsky whispers. “I can’t tell you anything.” </p><p>Mr. Grey slowly steps around the desk, hands up in a fashion Kavinsky can see them plainly. He approaches like people approach wild animals- slow, careful, and nonthreatening. “Joseph, if your father is abusing you, I have to report it.”</p><p>“I didn’t say he was,” he argues quietly. </p><p>“I’m not sure you have to.” Mr. Grey finally comes to stand in front of him but there’s space between their bodies and he keeps his hands clasped in front of him. “I want to help you… Does anyone know about this? Have you talked to anyone at all? Your friends, a counselor, an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend?” </p><p>He shakes his head, feeling defeated. His secret is out because he’s too fucking obvious but maybe he’s needed to tell someone. Maybe it’s finally time to try and escape before his father yanks on the noose too hard. But where would he go? God, he hopes not his uncle or anyone in his family really. His mother isn’t fit to care for him either. He’ll go into the fucking system until he turns eighteen in a few months. </p><p>No one will want him there. </p><p>“I really do just want to help,” Mr. Grey whispers. “Let’s take a walk, yeah? Go to the cafeteria and get some breakfast… Maybe we can talk?” </p><p>Kavinsky stares down at Mr. Grey’s hands, how they don’t move or reach for him, how he stands still and quiet. Wanting Kavinsky to make any moves. Smart, he supposes. Let the scared creature approach on its own. “Why do you care all of a sudden? I come to your class, I show up with black eyes, bruises, I just sit there sometimes, and you’ve never said anything to me.” </p><p>Mr. Grey takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “I am sorry if I’ve failed you as everyone has, Joseph. I would like to have a chance to correct that but I mostly just want to help you if you’re being harmed at home. I know you came here concerned about your grades but we can work on that, alright? Let’s… take a walk?” </p><p>Fear still makes him pause. If his father finds out he reported him, it will only be worse. He’ll be hurt so badly he may not survive. He’d need hard evidence his father abuses him but he’s already showered and his father hasn’t left any fresh bruises lately. He does have some screenshots of text messages he’s received; disgusting messages his father has sent both violent and sexual. But he’s going to need physical proof if anyone is going to believe him. Especially the dirty fucking cops in the area. </p><p>“I can’t make you talk, Joseph, but I am obligated to report my suspicions,” Mr. Grey says. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Another choice ripped away from him. Consent really is overrated. “Whatever,” he says, storming over to grab his bag and head toward the door in frustration. </p><p>“Joseph!” </p><p>“<em> What </em>? I don’t owe you my life story but you’re going to do what you’re going to do,” he says. “You’re just like everyone else. Fail me, I don’t fucking care. I won’t be alive by graduation anyway.” Once his father finds out someone has reported the abuse to the authorities, he’ll be counting his days. He flips Mr. Grey off and leaves the classroom, storming down the hallway as students start to arrive, clogging the hallway. </p><p>“Joseph!” Mr. Grey shouts after him but Kavinsky loses himself in the crowd. He ducks into groups and weaves in and out of the student body until he’s managed to escape the man’s gaze. Mr. Grey may mean well but the man may as well just sign his fucking death certificate. Kavinsky rounds the corner, prepared to just leave the school entirely, dreams of college quickly fading from memory, and runs into a body so hard he’s knocked down. </p><p>“Oh- my apologies, I wasn’t watching- Joseph.” </p><p>Gansey. Ugh. </p><p>Kavinsky rolls his eyes, shoving Gansey’s hands off of him as he starts to stand up a bit. “Wear your glasses, asshole,” he snaps. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gansey says and Kavinsky is surprised by how he seems to mean it. “You look… You look like you need a break from school already a dn we haven’t even started. “</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I need a break… a break from life, man.” </p><p>Gansey smirks just a little. “Well, I’m going to the pool… for laps.” </p><p>He doesn’t miss how Gansey adds emphasis on pool, like he’s trying to speak in smooth code. His mind flashes back to the party and the way Gansey had angrily stripped his clothes off. The way they’d collided like a hurricane and a tornado but how explosive everything had been. There’s no way Gansey wants to do it again but the look on Gansey’s face leaves him wondering. He watches the boy leave, heading toward the pool but Kavinsky follows after a few seconds later. </p><p>He watches as Gansey looks back to see if he’s being followed. When they meet eyes, Gansey takes a right and they’re going upstairs to the viewing room instead. Gansey has a set of keys too and once they’re both on the other side of the door, they lose control. Gansey shoves him against the door, their mouths fusing together for a brief moment but when Kavinsky bites Gansey’s lip, Gansey turns rough. </p><p>“Brat,” Gansey snaps, grabbing Kavinsky’s throat and squeezing just enough to make his knees weak. “You are the worst person in this school, do you know that?” </p><p>“God, yes, degrade me, Daddy,” he replies, sarcasm dripping off of his voice but the idea of Gansey degrading him is fucking sexy. </p><p>Gansey squeezes his throat a little harder. “I can’t stand you.” </p><p>Kavinsky gasps, grabbing Gansey’s wrist, pulling it back enough for breath and so he can say, “Yeah, I can’t fucking stand you either, golden boy. You gonna fuck me or what?” </p><p>“Get on your knees.” </p><p>The order makes him go down without a thought and he opens his mouth expectantly. The party had been dark and he’d barely had a chance to see Gansey’s huge cock before it had been inside of him but he’d definitely felt it after. Now, during the day, seeing Gansey with the lights on is fucking intimidating. He almost shuts his mouth and says nevermind but Gansey presses inside his mouth before he can voice his opinion. He moans, drooling when Gansey stretches his mouth and pressed back, back, back against his throat. </p><p><em> Fuck </em>. his eyes flutter and roll in response. He doesn’t bob his head or start to work him right away because he can feel Gansey’s hands in his hair. His grip tightens and he’s unsurprised when Gansey’s hips pull back and press in again. It’s slow at first, hesitant but after a few passes, he picks up a rough and fast rhythm. He’s been face fucked before but not by a man this well endowed. He can only accept the punishment, gagging and choking as Gansey pants and huffs, using him as a toy. </p><p>Good enough for secret sex, clandestine meetings, and shameful hookups. </p><p>Not good enough to date. </p><p>He’ll never be good enough to date. </p><p>When Gansey finishes, Kavinsky is worn out and gagging but he has to swallow or at least try. Gansey pulls back as he shudders, pulling his wet cock free, and giving him another splash on the face. He coughs and tries not to throw up, his throat raw and fucked thoroughly. He swallows what he can and spits the rest so he doesn’t puke it all back up. “Fuck,” he rasps out. </p><p>Gansey takes a few undignified deep breaths, tucks himself away, and then brushes his perfectly coiffed hair back. “We didn’t meet,” he says quietly. </p><p>Kavinsky nods, unsure he can talk a whole lot. Right. They didn’t meet, they didn’t have sex, he isn’t some type of weird fetish for Gansey at all. There’s a moment where Kavinsky remains on his hands and knees, recovering, while Gansey watches him and the only sounds are Kavinsky catching his breath and Gansey shifting around uncomfortably. </p><p>“We didn’t meet after school either,” Gansey says before he goes to the door. “At four.” </p><p>Kavinsky snorts. “Where didn’t we meet?” he whispers. </p><p>“Back school parking lot.” </p><p>“A good place to not have a meeting.” </p><p>“Exactly.” </p><p>“At four.” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Whatever.” He listens to Gansey open the door and leave before he uses his jacket to wipe his face off. It’s messy and disgusting but no one cares about him so no one is going to ask. They leave school at 3:30 but he can hang around for thirty minutes for their second not-meeting. His heart pounds as he pictures Gansey being mean to him again and again and again. </p><p>He hates how it turns him on and makes him weak for the bastard. Gansey will never want to date him and he isn’t sure he’d ever want to date Gansey but the idea…. </p><p>He shoves it out of his mind. </p><p>He’s not boyfriend material. He’s made to be fucked, abused, and used. Nothing more. Kavinsky drags himself to his feet and leaves the room, leaning back against the closed door. He fights tears forming behind his eyes. Nothing changes and everything will always be the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have <a href="https://twitter.com/xenogl0ssia">twitter</a> &amp; <a href="https://xenogl0ssia.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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